


Corinth

by cuzitsclarissa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Season five era, Sort of case!fic, Vampires, genderswap!cas, idk what else to tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuzitsclarissa/pseuds/cuzitsclarissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Sam, and Cas are hunting after starting apocalypse and run into an unexpected obstacle along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corinth

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so I'm not great at tagging and summarizing yet! Please give this story a try!! I will update as soon as possible and only if people like it!! Thanks!

“Grab the salt,” Dean growled, tightening a .45 caliber to his holster. The tan, dusty belt was tied tightly around his thin waist, filled with a gun, bullets and shells. Cas wondered to herself if it was heavier than it looked as she subconsciously shoved the canteens of salt into the bag she was holding. Both Sam and Dean were in a hurry, charging back and forth, grabbing every possible defense they could ever need. “Ah,” Cas heard Sam cry; she darted over to see that Sam had accidentally pricked his finger with the demon blade. Cas, with her wide-eyed expression, was proceeding to speak when Sam interjected an “I’m fine,” and continued to shove the knife down his pocket. Cas wasn’t completely aware of what she was doing, but it was clearly something because she could feel her arms moving at a rapid pace and the tips of her fingers burn from a mixture of salt and blood. She must have cut herself sometime also, but she was too oblivious to the events around her to notice. Her mind was too busy racing, thinking about all the information she had tapped from Sam and Dean about whatever this thing could be. It was usually like this, one minute calm and the next a blustering blur. Cas looked up at Dean’s face, half-heartedly focused on filling shells with salt. There was a streak of black grease across his cheek, and his hair had fallen every which way. He was wearing a dirty, ragged white t-shirt and jeans. His swiftness and the supplies scattered around seemed unprepared, but from the anticipation and the adrenaline he seemed so ready. Cas reached down and pulled a towel from under the tool bench, not sure of how she knew it would be there. She figured Dean must’ve tucked one away there while fixing the Impala. Cas wiped her stinging fingers off with it, and then tossed it over to Dean, who flinched at the sight of it coming towards him. “Thanks,” he replied, catching it quickly with one hand. He wiped it across his face, only smearing some of the oil off, and threw it back down on the table. Dean stopped all the sudden, took his gun out of his pocket, and shot a warning shot that caught both Sam and Cas off-guard. “Let’s kill this b***h,” he smirked, heading out of the shed. Cas took her rifle off the table and followed behind. “So where exactly are we going?” she asked, slowing down to walk next to Sam. Sam was squinting through the clouds at the sun, rubbing his finger with his other hand. “Milton, Illinois,” Sam straggled, his breath caught in his throat.  
“That’s not too far away,” Cas said, the anxiety and anticipation creeping in. Cas opened the door to the backseat of the car, pushed the wrappers and beer bottles Dean had thrown back there onto the floor, and climbed inside. She saw Dean take a small cassette tape from the deck of the car and slide it in, already tapping his fingers on the wheel. “Please, I swear to God,” Sam warned, staring aggressively at Dean. “If its another Asia tape I’m going to kill myself,”  
“Relax, Sammy. Enjoy the ride,” Dean smiled, pressing play. “Heat of the Moment” starting blaring throughout the car, and Cas could hear the noises of Sam beating his head against the door.

A half an hour and six painfully long songs later, Dean pulled up to a barely lit, lengthy driveway safely and suspiciously guarded with trees. “Well, this is the perfect place for a nest,” Dean said, staring up at the thick tops of the trees. Both Sam and Dean opened up their car doors, got out, and slammed them. The cool air greeted Cas with a gust of wind as she stepped out, uncomfortable with the eerie silence. Dean seemed to speak her mind. “Seem a little too quiet to you?” he asked rhetorically, making his way up to the entrance. The full moon’s light shined brightly off of Dean’s leather jacket, which he must have put on in the car. With his sawed-off in hand, Dean walked up to the low wooden fence and leaned against it, peering off into the distance at the big, white house that was up a slight hill. Sam, wearing a green plaid shirt and jeans, leaned up next to him. It was unusual to Cas, looking at Sam and Dean in this light. The brothers, next to each other, looked so different. Sam looked homey, laidback and relaxed while Dean looked determined, tough and resilient. It was mainly their attitudes that caused Cas to think this way; Sam, more antsy and fumbling and Dean more confident, robust. Cas was still standing near the car, her gun in her hand. She unloaded the gun and reloaded it again with a loud cracking sound, causing both Sam and Dean to glance her way. “Ya ready to go?” Dean asked, flashing a toothy grin.  
“Well, the more we stand here the more we give them time to sense we’re here,” Cas exclaimed uneasily, walking towards the boys.  
“Let’s go,” Dean murmured while opening up the noisy, creaky fence. Dean cringed at the sound; it was like a blinking sign right above them, giving them away. “Might as well have screamed at the top of our lungs,” he joked, walking up the dirt path. Sam trailed behind him, almost stumbling on a root that was sticking out of the ground. The front steps to the house looked worn, broken and weak, like someone had taken a hammer to them.  
“Watch your step,” Sam cautiously warned, stepping a careful boot onto the second stair. Dean hesitated before following, and strained his neck to catch a glimpse of the back of the house.  
“I’ll go in through the back; you two keep going,” Dean said as he hustled against the side of the house, standing up tall to see through the busted windows as he passed them. Cas quickly shadowed Sam, practically nipping the back of his heels. Cas wasn’t exactly afraid as much as she was worried that they were walking into something they were not prepared for. Up until a year ago, Cas had thought they’d seen everything. Demons, ghosts, werewolves, vampires, even wraiths, and pagan gods, but new, bigger, and more dangerous things kept coming, and Cas earnestly doubted they had seen the last of it.  
The room was dark, with thick, red curtains blanketing the windows to keep out the slightest bit of light. Cas couldn’t see where she was going; her feet mildly bumping into random objects on the ground as she stepped. The smell in the house was pungent, the odor slowly wafting toward Cas in lethal waves. Cas restrained herself from making a gagging noise, but she felt her eyes tear up and her stomach tense. “Cas, you there?” Sam called, somewhere near in front of her. Cas gracefully stuck a hand out to feel the roughness of Sam’s jacket, and with that, she replied with a feeble “Yes”.  
“Oh, God,” she heard Sam mumble. Cas reached into her back pocket and pulled out a flashlight.  
“What are the chances of these flashlights working,” Cas coughed, faintly making out the outline of Sam’s big build. “You mean what are the chances this thing’s not a demon or a ghost?” Sam replied, sounding slightly congested. His voice had started to echo, making it sound like they were in a foyer of some sort. “Well, there’s no sulfur, and no knives flying at us, so I think it’s pretty good,” he continued, still walking forward. Cas shook her flashlight once and clicked in the batteries, a sudden flash of light nearly blinding her and illuminating everything around them. She squinted and shined the flashlight around, seeing a couch, a bookcase, and random scattered tables here and there. Sam looked around too, his searching eyes scanning every inch of the large, vacant room.  
“Where’s Dean?” Cas couldn’t help but ask, worry flooding her eyes. Sam looked over and smiled affectionately before turning around.  
“He’ll be fine,” he said reassuringly. Cas waved the flashlight up to the ceiling where she saw a trapdoor-style attic with a long, dangly piece of string hanging down. A couple feet of away, she heard Sam’s heavy footsteps coming back to her. “There’s a staircase round the corner; I’m going to go up there,” he rasped, sounding breathless. Cas simply nodded and followed Sam over. “Wait and see if Dean shows,” Sam demanded, leaning on the railing. “I’ll be back soon,” He sustained as he trotted up the stairs. Cas continued to look around until she heard a boisterous sound behind her. She snapped around hastily, shining the flashlight on a tall, black figure.  
“God, Cas, way to harness the power of the Sun,” Dean jested, reaching over to lower Cas’ flashlight. Cas let out a sigh of relief and casually shined the light back up the stairs.  
“Sam went up there; I was waiting for you,” she enlightened calmly, feeling Dean coming toward her. “Did you find anything?” She asked, hearing Dean’s heavy breathing and warmth right next to her.  
“Except for a couple of rotting trash bags, nope,” He moaned, peering up the stairs. “Well why don’t we go see if Sammy needs some back up,” He said, sliding around the railing and climbing up the stairs.  
“That’s not necessary,” a low, gruesome voice bellowed behind Cas. Sam was barely standing behind them, his knees giving out and only being supported by the man pulling at the collar of his shirt. Sam’s nose was bleeding, and the hollow skin around his eyes black and blue. Cas’ deep purple eyes met the intense, black stare of the man. Cas felt her mouth open slightly, captivated by the persistent, longing gaze. The man shoved Sam down, his knees hitting the wooden floor first, then his whole body toppling over. The man continued to hold Cas’ attention, slowly and seductively moving around Sam. Her mind could make out the sound of Dean fumbling back down the stairs, and out of the corner of her eye, Cas could see Dean standing close. The man had long, black, shiny hair that seemed to fall in place whenever he moved or shook his head. His eyes were enchanting; to Cas it looked as if they were changing colors, from black to dark, emerald green to light, pale blue. The soft feeling of Dean touching her hand snapped her out of the entrancement, making her better aware of the situation. Dean’s eyes were wide with both terror and wild excitement as he pulled out his silver knife and admired it in what moonlight shone through the small sliver of window that was left uncovered. Cas realized she must’ve dropped her flashlight, but it was no use looking for it now. “What are you?” she heard Dean speak, the first voice to break the silence. The man sinisterly smiled, the tips of his teeth showing through his insipid lips. “What do you think I am?” the man gingerly replied, stretching his mouth to show the fangs, like pointed icicles, growing raggedly in. Cas took a step back into Dean, the softness of his t-shirt exposed under his jacket and his arms offering protection. Cas reached into her back pocket and pulled out her own knife, but instead of flamboyantly showing it off, she kept it behind her back, hidden. Dean swiveled out from behind Cas and took several steps forward in a threatening manner, keeping his knife out and open in front of him. The man snarled in response, but instead of taking initiative toward Dean or the weapon, gazed thoughtfully at Cas. Cas struggled with the decision to bring out the knife from behind her, but instead, her mind’s decision unbeknownst to her, she slid the knife back into her pocket. Before Cas could stammer out who- knows- what, Dean spat with blind rage.  
“Is Sam bitten?” He asked, twisting and turning the blade in his hand. The man softly chuckled, lowering his head to hide his pleasure. Cas could tell Dean was confused by his reaction, as was she.  
“If you really think I bit him, why don’t you go see?” He asked, a proud smile plastered across his face.  
“Why, so when I bend down, you can bite me too? Or Cas?” Dean replied, smirking. “I know your tricks, okay? I know these games. You’re not gonna get one past me,” Dean stated confidently, keeping his eyes focused on the vampire. Cas glanced at both Dean and the man, back and forth. She didn’t know why she put the knife back, but something told her that this man wasn’t as dangerous as Dean thought he was, even though Sam was lying on the ground barely conscious, or maybe not even conscious at all. Cas gulped, fighting the urge to kneel next to Sam and see if he was okay. She knew Dean felt the same way, but Dean was out for blood, vengeance, no matter if the man did anything or not. Cas still peered skeptically into the man’s eyes, as if the more she looked, she could be able to tell if the man was telling the truth, or if he was just like the others that they have encountered. All the sudden, the man’s voice broke her train of thought.  
“I didn’t bite him,” He sneered, seemingly making fun of Dean’s cold-blooded assumption. Cas could see Dean squint his eyes questioningly, readjusting his hand on the knife.  
“Even so,” Dean scorned, a devilish smile on his face, “even if you didn’t bite him, I could still stab your guts out for doing whatever it is that you did,” The tone of voice Dean used was alarming to Cas, like killing this man was pleasurable instead of an obligation. Almost like Dean didn’t have to do it, he wanted to. Cas stared daggers at Dean, but more out of concern than anger. She saw a glint in Dean’s eye, a wicked, evil look. Cas reached out to lower Dean’s arm cautiously, his arm firm and withstanding. She kept her hand on his arm, hoping that maybe he would look her way and get the hint, but Dean didn’t move or dismantle the knife from his hand.  
“Dean,” Cas imploringly whispered, gripping hard onto Dean’s arm. Dean slightly shifted his head in her direction, but didn’t look at her in the eye. Cas once again looked at the vampire, who visibly noticed the conflict between Dean and Cas. Cas became more and more urgent, intrepidly trying to take the knife out of Dean’s hardened fist. Abruptly, Dean dropped his arm, blade still in his hand. He turned to look at Cas, an unfamiliar look of rage and betrayal on his face. He took one hesitant step forward toward Sam, who was still motionless on the ground, and kept his stare on the man. The man slowly started backing away as Dean came closer and leaned over Sam, pushing his hands underneath him to lift him up. Dean was focused on Sam, but Cas was still fixated on the man, and the man on her. Disappearing, the man evaporated in the shadows, right before Cas’ eyes. It was a minute before they fully realized they were alone, and Dean had Sam in his arms. Cas was about to speak when Dean pushed right past her and headed for the door. “Dean, he didn’t bite him,” Cas said desperately, feeling the need to justify herself to Dean. Dean stopped in his tracks, and turned to face Cas. His face was full of bewilderment and frenzy, his eyes sharp and condemning.  
“Are you serious?” he fiercely replied, spitting fire into Cas’ already burnt esteem. Tears slowly filled Cas’ eyes.  
“Look, Dean, I know-“  
“He was a monster, Cas!” Dean yelled, his voice full with angst. “It doesn’t matter if he bit him or not! He was a vampire!” Dean exclaimed obviously, shaking his head. Cas backed away, astounded. It took all she had to counter Dean.  
“So?” Cas queried, confused and sounding anguished. She could see that Dean purely had no clue where she was coming from and why she was even mitigating herself; he just didn’t understand. Cas remembered a time when Sam considered himself evil, an abomination, when he discovered there was demon blood tracing through his veins, and Dean had defended him to the end even when Sam had given up on himself. Dean was determined to convince Sam and others that even though Sam was destined for evil that he was not a monster; he had never hurt anybody. Cas starkly realized the contradiction in this, how Dean was so quick to defend his own brother but refused to make the slightest exception for anyone or anything else. These thoughts whirled through Cas’ head as she fought to find something to say. “But Dean,” she began more rationally than she could’ve ever hoped, “we don’t know if he did anything wrong,” she pleaded, trying to rationalize to Dean but to no seen avail. Dean took a deep breath in and loudly exhaled, and then turned to face the doorway.  
“Look, Cas, we hunt monsters, okay? We hunt demons, ghosts, and monsters. That’s what we do. I’m not going to make an exception for someone who is clearly, a monster.” Dean shouted, taking a giant step toward Cas. Dean was livid, Cas could tell, but what she couldn’t tell was if he was mad because he thought she was wrong or because she was actually right. Cas stopped herself from this cocky way of thinking; she knew that vampires were monsters, and she knew all monsters should be destroyed. Even if the man hadn’t done anything wrong yet, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t in the future. The last thing Cas wanted to do was get ahead of herself and stop doing what they were supposed to. She just couldn’t help but imagine the wrought of guilt that would’ve caged her if Dean had killed him. Cas sensed her words jumbling together and she knew she was going to say something she might regret, but if she was ever going to come truly clean to Dean about what she felt, this might as well be the time to do it. “If that man was a monster, then Sam was a monster, too,” Cas implied quietly, awaiting the burst of anger that was sure about to come her way. Her rebuttal was a real one, a thought out one, and Cas knew she had the defense to back it up. But now, seeing Dean so overwhelmed with emotion, Cas just wanted to get back in the car and leave. To pretend this conversation never happened, because deep within herself, she knew Dean was right, and that Sam was an exception. The only exception. She knew that Sam’s situation was different better than anyone else, and she now felt that she had no right to try and defend someone she didn’t even know and shove Sam under the bus. Cas started walking toward Dean, and stopped right in front of him, ready and willing to apologize. Dean’s eyes were glazed over, his pupils slicked with mounting tears that Cas knew Dean would never let surface. “I know Sam is different. I just…” Cas tried to continue, but her throat closed up and she felt like she was going to cry just from seeing how much her careless words hurt Dean. “I know Sam is different, and I know this was a vampire who is probably out killing someone as we speak, and I know we should’ve killed him, I just…” Cas paused a somber moment to let Dean speak, but no words came. “I don’t know why I stopped you,” she finally released. After several moments of standing in pensive silence, Cas walked around Dean and headed toward the front door.  
“Just so you know, if we ever see that d*******g again, and he’s killed someone, I’m taking him out,” Dean expressed, somewhat surprisingly lightheartedly. Cas looked back, seeing a small, forgiving expression on Dean’s face. “Sam was different,” he finished gravely, following Cas toward the front door.  
His forehead was wrinkled up and the lines on the sides of his eyes looked more defined than usual. Cas noticed this as they were driving down a long, barely lit highway, with Sam laying murmuring to himself in the backseat and Cas sitting in the passenger. There was something enchanting about watching Dean drive; about watching his eyes slightly move in every which direction to follow the road and the signs they passed, to watch his mouth slightly fall open once in a while, usually when the Sam said something audible, or when the Impala swerved to the side. Whenever he did this, Cas thought, his eyes looked hopeful, but then when the soft noise stopped or the Impala was back on track, his grave, stern countenance returned. Cas didn’t know if Dean noticed her looking at him, but she bet he was preoccupied with all the things that had happened earlier. It was a silent car drive, and for the better. Cas, when she wasn’t examining Dean, occasionally peered out the window at the pitch black and the glare of the headlights. Cas didn’t usually go against Dean in situations like the one before, because Dean and Sam were the ones that knew best, and she had been often penned as too empathetic or guilt-ridden when it came to hunting. Cas knew where they were coming from; there were many traits of hers that she didn’t seem to notice that Sam and Dean did. If given the chance, by Sam and Dean’s analysis, Cas would always think twice about killing something. Dean had been hunting all his life, since he could remember, and if someone were to have the better judgment, it was Dean. Cas sighed against the glass window, watching it fog up from the contrast of her hot breath to the sub-zero temperature outside. Dean turned to look at Cas, taking his attention away from the road for a second, and began to say something. “Look, Cas, back there, it was just-“  
“I know,” Cas nodded understandingly, both wanting to avoid the conversation and hear what Dean had to say. Dean looked at her a little longer, then turned back to the road. The tension in the car rose a little bit, but deflated once Dean turned up the volume knob on the radio. The noise drowned out Cas’ thoughts and prevented any attempt she would have made to talk to Dean. Frequently Dean glanced over at Cas and Cas would look back in his direction, but neither said anything. Cas was about to doze off against the car window when she heard Sam call out Dean’s name. She looked over and saw Dean trying to reach back and shake Sam into full consciousness.  
“What happened?” Sam groggily mumbled, still squinting his bleary eyes.  
“It was a vamp,” Dean yelled back, staring at Sam through the rearview mirror.  
“Well, I figured that,” Sam said sarcastically. He was sitting up now and leaning forward to get in between Dean and Cas. Cas reckoned Sam could probably feel the heavy stillness circulating throughout the car. “What happened?” Sam asked, lifting his eyebrows in curiosity. Cas turned to look at Sam with a straight face. Cas appeared tired, Sam thought, and from the hollow, dark circles under her eyes she looked exhausted. “What happened after I left you by the stairs?” Sam joked, poking fun at Cas’ exasperated appearance. Her overall visage looked sad and full of worry, and Dean looked like the same stern, emotionless stiff he usually did after a fatiguing hunt. Cas lightly fell back against the seat, her white blonde hair pressing up against the leather. She didn’t know what to say to Sam, and she certainly wasn’t going to martyr Sam into feeling any sort of guilt, which Cas knew he would for leaving her next to the stairs. She also didn’t want him to know that she ever justly believed that of him; that he was monster. Cas never once thought of Sam as a monster, in fact the opposite. She saw both Sam and Dean as soldiers; warriors, who never gave up or gave in to anything, let alone evil. She regretted saying any of it to Dean, and she wanted to be sick just knowing that Dean knew what she had admitted to him, even if it was false. Dean knew her intentions, and he made that clear when he reluctantly smiled and gestured toward her when they left the empty house. “Well, alright then,” Sam grumbled as he sat back against the cold, leather seat. Neither Cas nor Dean replied, and the rest of the car drive was silent back to the bunker. Sam must’ve fallen asleep, because there was no sound coming from the backseat until they arrived back. Both Sam and Dean lugged their bags into the bunker and set them down heavily on the front room’s table. Once Cas was about to enter the bunker, she decided that she was going to stay outside, at least for a minute, because she needed the fresh air. She told Sam and Dean this, and they both agreed not to lock the bunker as long as Cas kept a good lookout and made sure nothing came in except for her. Cas sweetly complied and stepped out of the doorway of the bunker. There were no porch lights outside of the bunker, and there were no street lights either. The moon was still shining brightly, and still full, which was unusual considering it was so late at night. The still air was completely silent, no bugs or wind making any noise whatsoever. Cas stood a couple of steps away from the bunker and awed at the sky, and how clearly she could see the stars from the countryside the bunker was located. Cas heard a muted rustling noise near the bunker, and she instinctively jerked back when she heard it again. She examined all around her, scanning with her eyes. There was nothing except a never-ending concrete road in front of her and miles of grass extending behind the bunker. Cas figured Dean and Sam were conked out by now, and decided she should at least attempt to get some sleep before it was already light again. She started heading back toward the front door, but stopped. Something felt heavy, strange behind her, like an aura of sorts was filling the air. Cas dared to look behind her, expecting and praying for there to be nothing and for it all to be a figment of her tired and consequently delusional imagination. Cas’ delayed suspicions were established when she heard the same low, smooth voice she had heard only a couple hours earlier.  
“You know I never bit Sam,” The voice behind Cas quipped. Cas was still frozen in her tracks, her heart either beating really fast or not beating at all. Whichever it was, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Cas contemplated making a run for the bunker door and slamming it shut, knowing full well that this monster could never get in if she did. There were several methods Cas could’ve used; several things she could’ve done to remove herself from the situation and get rid of him entirely. She felt her side and realized she still had the knife in her pocket from before. For a split second, Cas minded how disheveled she must’ve looked, completely and utterly exhausted and confused, halfway wondering if she was dreaming up the whole scenario. She began to reach for the knife and stopped. He was still there, she could feel it, eyeing her and just patiently and dauntingly waiting for her next move. Cas did the most illogical thing she could’ve possibly thought of, and it was the exact opposite of what Dean or Sam for that matter would’ve done, but for some strange, complicated reason that even Cas hadn’t figured out, doing the wrong thing felt right. She slowly turned around to face the man, who still looked as fresh and neat as he had before. Right as she faced him, the wind grew stronger and Cas heard small rocks hitting the Impala’s windows. Almost as suddenly as the wind had started, it stopped as the man began to speak. “In fact, I’ve never bit anybody,” he continued, smirking slyly and in a weird sense, objectively. Cas’ breathing was still staggered, but she slowly felt her heart rate drop and her pulse weaken slightly. It was an eerie and frightening thought to think that this man could also control the atmosphere around her, causing her to nearly have a heart attack within the same minute as her blood sugar dropping at exceeding rates, resulting in her passing out. Cas had no idea what to say. Her mind was so occupied by the fact that she felt unbelievably sick, along with tired and panicked. It all made Cas think of what kind of sick person she had let live. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” the man questioned in the most suave and disconcerting voice she had ever witnessed. The air continued to feel thick, nauseating, and Cas resisted the urge to double over.  
“I want-“ She began, only shorted by the uncontrollable urge to throw up, “you to stop, whatever you’re doing,” She stammered, taking short, brief pauses in between words. Oddly, the man looked confused like he didn’t know what Cas was talking about. Cas looked up at him begrudgingly, waiting for him to respond.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” The man said, in a troubled and strangely honest tone. Cas looked around frantically, reassuring herself that no one else was there, and turned to attention back to the man. The gruesome feeling slowly began to subside, but still lingered as Cas stood upright.  
“What are you,” Cas stated more than questioned, still laying a hand over her stomach, which was still in splaying knots.  
“I’m a vampire-“  
“Vampires can’t do that,” Cas immediately cut him off sharply.  
“Do what?” The man acted disoriented, still unclear about what Cas was referring to. Cas, more determined to get answers than to cower and protect herself in fear, unveiled her knife and gripped it tight in her hand. She could see the recognition in the man’s face as she, like Dean, reflected the moonlight off the knife’s blade.  
“Vampires can’t change the weather. Vampires don’t have the capacity to make people sick. You do. You’re not a vampire,” Cas said decidedly. The man stared back at her, as solid and stern as a rock. Another round of soft wind blew in Cas’ direction, this time warmer and much more calming. Cas glanced up at the sky to see the moon still full but fading slowly, a slight sliver of it hidden behind the dark clouds. The man bared his sharp teeth, stretching his jaw wide. Cas supposed the man was trying to prove himself a vampire, either that or to look even more threatening.  
“The wind thrashing? You think I did that?” The man said snarling, “You were right the first time. I’m a vampire,” He derided, walking back and forth, almost pacing. Cas looked startled and confused, and felt the same way. It was like the mere presence of him had made her sick instead of anything he had actually done. It was a far-stretch, and Cas expected him to be lying considering there were no other reasonable explanations. All the sudden, the level of tension rose and it felt like Cas was swimming in it. It almost felt like drowning, or being so close and right below the surface. She was almost there, almost to the point where she could consciously and conscience-ly kill this man without feeling a shred of guilt or remorse.  
“When are you going to kill me,” the man said, gesturing towards the knife in her hand. Cas followed his point and stared at the knife. It was early in the morning now, about 3:00, and either Sam or Dean would sooner or later rouse in the name of insomnia and notice she wasn’t there. Maybe they would notice or maybe they wouldn’t, Cas thought, but nevertheless she didn’t have time or the energy to debate with the thing she was planning to kill. The way he had questioned, though, almost expecting and discerning, caused Cas to give it a second thought. She didn’t want to reconsider, but the way the vampire had said that, like he was familiar with the practice of hunters killing innocent devil spawns, if that made sense, made Cas rethink doing something rash, or something she would regret. She and others would certainly sleep better at night knowing that one less monster, one less vampire, would be haunting the woods at night, but if this man, this monster, hadn’t done anything wrong, especially back in the cabin, Cas didn’t want to take that risk. The crickets’ chirping noises were more audible now, and the man was just standing in front of her, as if patiently waiting for her ruling. Cas was exhausted, the night was slipping away and the man had not bitten Sam. Those were the weak conclusions Cas had formulated as she put down the knife. The blade landed with a tuft of dust spreading around it and Cas backed away. The vampire looked confused, and he tilted his head and glared at Cas as if she were insane. Maybe she was, she thought, maybe the very next stop for him after this moment would be to a poor, old, unsuspecting civilian’s home. The feeling that Cas felt most, however, was not guilt, anger or remorse, it was disappointment. She couldn’t let Dean kill the vampire back at the cabin, and she couldn’t kill him now. It was strange; it wasn’t like this with the other atrocities Sam, Dean and Cas had encountered. There had never been a doubt in Cas’ mind whether or not to take down something supernatural, and certainly none as strongly as the doubt she was feeling now. There was nothing left in this man to justify his actions, no good left, if this man had ever been good at all. Cas was at a disoriented loss for words, just watching the man and waiting for his departure, surely a swift one back into the woods. “I’m sure Dean wouldn’t like that,” the man taunted, grinning suspiciously down at the knife. Cas opened her mouth slightly in response, appalled that the man had the nerve to continue on instead of leave before Cas haughtily changed her mind and that the man was bold enough to bring up Dean like he knew what he was talking about. Before Cas could reply, the man held up his hands in a surrender – like fashion and slowly stepped back, making clear he had provoked, but didn’t want to start, a fight.  
“What’s your name?” Cas asked sternly, reaching for the latch on the bunker’s door. The man stopped, still facing toward the trees, and turned back around. Cas’ blue-purple eyes glinted in the remaining moonlight as she stood strongly, determined.  
“Why?” the man spat, accusingly. Cas undid the latch to the door and began to step inside.  
“So I can hunt you down and stab this knife right through your arrogant skull whenever you decide to kill again,” Cas barked, a look of bloodthirsty revenge gracing her face. There was a small window of silence before the man said his last word.  
“Corinth,” He conceitedly replied, and in the same moment, disappeared in the wind. Cas frantically searched around, seeing nothing but the bare trees, the long, winding road ahead, and the open door of the bunker.

“I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep,” Dean mumbled, tapping his foot while impatiently waiting for the coffee to brew. Cas had just “woken up”; she could barely call it that. After she came into the bunker, she darted straight toward her room in fear that Sam or Dean would be awake wandering the halls and grow suspicious to what she had been up to. She must’ve only slept a half hour because now, as she glanced at the miniature black alarm clock sitting on top of the microwave, it read only 5:30 in the morning. Cas slowed to a stop at the sight of Dean, already dressed with his hair brushed and his jacket on. Dean’s statement made Cas stop and think. Did Dean know she had been up all night, and was that why he said that? Cas wondered this as she took a wide step down the three-step flight of stairs and entered into the dining room area. Dean glanced behind him toward Cas, the sound of her feet stamping on the floor catching his attention.  
“Why do you say that,” Cas mustered casually, fiddling with her fingers, nervously awaiting his answer.  
“‘Cause those dark circles under your eyes make it look like you got hit by a truck,” Dean jested playfully, nudging Cas’ shoulder lightly. Cas breathed a sigh of relief and gathered a smile, feeling semi-conscious of how she looked.  
“Thanks,” Cas said sarcastically, reaching up into the cabinet for a coffee cup. The only sounds in the room were the coffee slowly trickling into the carafe and the sound of the few missed drops landing on the hot plate under. Cas felt lightheaded, the mixture of her tiredness and the annoying sound of the coffeemaker making her want to collapse back in bed.  
“Well, if it helps any, I didn’t much sleep either and neither did Sam,” he reassured, emptying packets of sugar into his mug. Cas settled her back against the counter, wrapping her cold fingers around her empty, cold cup.  
“How do you know about Sam?” Cas questioned, secretly wondering if Sam and Dean had together known all along and were waiting for the right moment to bust her. Dean laughed a bit as he stole Cas’ coffee cup for her hands and poured some coffee into it. Dean didn’t appear weary in the least; he looked like he normally did, wide awake and ready for anything. Cas watched the coffee slip out of the carafe in a mesmerizing fashion.  
“Are you kidding? I could hear that nerd turning the pages of his crusty old book from two bedrooms away,” Dean wailed, sounding irritated. Cas nodded in understanding, and then frantically looked around the room, seeing no Sam or signs of him. Dean seemed to notice as he tossed a couple of sugar packets at Cas.  
“Where’s Sam,” Cas asked, looking out the window to see if the Impala was still in the driveway. It looked miserable outside, dreary, wet and uninhabitable, with the tree’s branches wet and crooked and the sky giving off an ominous tone. Cas kept her eyes on the window as Dean replied.  
“He went out to get donuts,” Dean grinned enthusiastically, taking a clumsy swig of his coffee. Cas made an uncomfortable face as she turned back toward Dean and emptied the sugar into her black coffee. “Because we know how much you love those,” He continued. Cas knew Dean was saying this to joke with her and poke fun at the fact that she won’t eat donuts, or sugary foods in general, but the way Dean said it took Cas’ mind in another direction. He’s having too much fun, she thought, he’s trying to make himself sound as normal as he can until Sam gets back and then they are going to reveal that they had seen the vampire come back and me let him go, she spieled. Cas shook away those thoughts; they sounded like strange, foreign ideas to her. Sam and Dean would never yell at her or get mad enough to do so, it must just be her own guilt playing on her imagination. They both would have taken him out the second he came back; they wouldn’t even had bothered for an explanation. That was what they would’ve done, and that would’ve been the right thing to do. He was a monster. It didn’t matter the rhyme or reason; guilt or innocence. He was still deserving of being killed. He, that word rang Cas’ mind. He, her mind then repeated. Corinth. Her mind had cleared the fog away and Cas now heard it more clearly. She had almost forgotten she had even asked for a name, and now last night’s events were rushing back to her in clear view. She yearned to be unable to remember the countless mistakes she had made then, but there they were, concise and lucid. She had asked for a name to be able to track him down; to find him. She swore that she would find Corinth and kill him if she ever heard any wrongdoings that she suspected were his. “It’s okay, Sam got you a banana,” Dean’s voice pierced through the veil that was blanketing her mind. She had tuned out for a moment, or minutes, for all she knew, and she now became hyper aware of the sounds and the things around her. “You look like you’re going to hyperventilate,” Dean practically shouted, coming towards her. Cas was still in a dream state, absorbed in her own head, even when she thought she had snapped out of it. Reality came crashing back and Cas was startled when she saw Dean grabbing the coffee cup from her hands. She looked down and her hands were shaking, still in place from the mug. She could feel her heart racing and her breathing unsteadily, and her eyes were wide. Cas slowed the pace, and fell back against the counter, catching herself from slamming into the cabinets with her hand. “You okay?” Dean quipped, holding out a hand in defense. Cas nodded and shook her head, trying to rid her mind of whatever pulled her in it.  
“I’m fine,” Cas said sternly. She was still leaning up against the counter and breathing heavily. She began to reach for her coffee cup but Dean stopped her.  
“What was that?” he stated more than asked. His eyes were serious, no longer the playful, jovial kind they were earlier. Cas looked up at Dean, who was holding his arms out for her stability.  
“Like I said, no sleep,” Cas tried to express flippantly, but the pained expression on her face told a different story. Just as soon as Cas had quieted, Sam came bursting through the door, bringing a whole new different energy to the bunker that was now much needed. Sam barreled toward the counter and piled the bags onto it, nearly knocking over Cas’ delicate cup that was sitting near the edge.  
“Don’t worry Cas, I got bananas for you,” Sam stated, pointing a finger at Cas. Cas beamed in acknowledgment, and sifted through the bags and pulled out one overly ripe piece of fruit. “So what’s on the agenda,” Sam shouted from the other room, quickly making his way back to the kitchen. He looked fresh and ready too, completely unlike what Dean had described to her. Cas noticed Sam opening and shutting the cabinets, looking around the counter, and reaching for her cup. Before she knew it, Sam was gulping the whole thing down in an instant, and slamming the cup down again. Cas wasn’t about to object, she didn’t want or need the coffee anyway. She was preoccupied, thinking about what had happened earlier. As it was happening, whatever it was, maybe a meltdown of sorts, she had felt a strange wave of déjà vu. It reminded her of the way she felt that night, last night, when she had spoken to Corinth outside the bunker. Except this time, however, it was more of a fainting spell. She didn’t feel sick, like she was going to throw up, she felt more dizzy and disoriented. Like the mere memory of it had an unpleasant effect on her.  
“Well, there’s nothing in the newspaper,” Dean said begrudgingly, tossing the worn paper onto the table. Sam looked at it with sheer disregard and pulled out his phone, scrolling through, prepared to make the announcement of their next mission. Cas didn’t usually yearn for, let alone want, to go drive for hours to hunt something, but now she felt like she needed the escape. She needed the distraction. Cas reluctantly scooted forward, eyes and attention on Sam. Sam looked up from his phone and shot Cas a befuddled look, then shook his head and continued to search for what he was looking for.  
“Uh, Little Rock, Arkansas,” Sam muttered in a slight accent; squinting at his screen. “Um, several bodies found near the lake that runs through there,” Sam paused, then just as quickly resumed, “Torn apart, officers say,” Sam said, halfway sitting on the counter. He glanced at both Dean and Cas matter-of-factly before Dean finally responded.  
“What’s the story,”  
“The officers said it looked like a wild animal did it,” Sam finished, a prideful and suspecting smile spreading on his face. “Sound like our kind of gig or what,”  
“What animals are in the area,” Cas hesitantly asked, not wanting to bring Dean’s attention back to herself. Cas gulped and shied away, leaning her head back. Both Dean and Sam looked up at her, and then Dean turned to Sam for answers.  
“Gophers and raccoons. No bears, no crocs, no nothing,” Sam replied. Cas nodded in response, and took a deep breath.  
“What are we waiting for then?” She asked, beginning to trot out of the room.

Sam, Dean and Cas were on the road in no time, speeding through stop signs and red lights. Every time Dean would rush past one, Sam would yell “Dean!” and throw his hands up in the air like what Dean had done was just unfathomable. Dean would just smirk and laugh at Sam, whom he said took things “way too seriously,” and continued to make some crude joke at his expense. Cas would occasionally laugh or comment, just to let them know she was alive, but mainly she was alone with her thoughts, like she wanted to be. Not quite alone though. Cas felt something strange, like someone was in her mind or right outside it, looking in. She felt like someone was in her head and messing with her, but it always looped back around to Cas figuring it was just herself. Herself looking in, trying to decipher the events that have occurred in the last 24 hours. She concluded that maybe having a guilty conscience about not killing Corinth was resulting in her having some sort of delusion or hallucination, and it was simply overwhelming for her mind to handle. Sam had been stuck before, trapped in his own mind, where all he could see was Lucifer. Maybe this was Cas’ version, a revolting replay of her mistakes coming back to haunt her. Cas wished, and almost would’ve died, to tell Sam and Dean and have them help her. She wanted someone to understand and tell her how to clear this mess that was filling her head up. Cas had to hold her hands and steady her breathing to prevent herself from having a full-blown panic attack. She glanced down and despite her trying to relax herself, her hands were continuously shaking, unrelenting, and her feet were constantly tapping. Cas heard through her entrancement Dean making a joke about Sam having a stick up his a**, and Sam defending himself, practically shouting at the top of his lungs. Cas started to laugh, but it was nearly inaudible. If she sat back there silent and noticeably shaking for too long, though, Sam and Dean would question her, so she found it best to interject whenever she could in a lackluster attempt to act normal. Dean peered at Cas through the rearview mirrors and smiled. “See, it is funny,” Dean countered, shoving Sam’s shoulder. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, surrendering.  
“Not when you’re the butt of the joke,” Sam said valiantly, sitting back into his chair. Both Sam and Dean gradually fell silent, and the rest of the car ride was quiet. Cas found herself drifting off, but sporadically sprung awake whenever Dean would make a sharp turn or ride over a pothole. The more Cas lay there, still and serene, the more she found her thoughts lessening and her mind go back to normal. For the first time in 24 hours, Cas was calm, and the thoughts that did enter her mind were comforting. While she dozed off, she could hear the faint rum of the car as it continued driving, and she felt the soothing cool breeze when Dean rolled down the window to clutch the top of the car. Her body had stopped shaking and her breathing was slow but sure. The only thing she wondered was whether or not the disturbing illusions would flood her mind once she woke up again, or became alert. As she sat with her head laying against the window, Cas figured it out. The more she felt guilty for what she had done, or didn’t do, she more she felt on edge and on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. She was doing it to herself, obsessing over it, feeling guilty about it, and it didn’t help that she didn’t sleep a second the night before. The majority of the day she had spent feeling like she was going insane, and the thought of letting a monster go that was sure to bring destruction was driving her crazy. All she had to do was let go of it, forget it, and forgive herself. Sam and Dean would forgive her, and they were the only ones she was genuinely afraid of disappointing. She knew, deep down, that she did the right thing. The rules of the world were innocent until proven guilty, and Cas inconsequently applied that to the supernatural world also. Cas’ thoughts leisurely grew fuzzy, and Cas knew that she wanted to come clean with Dean and Sam before they arrived to the next location of investigation and even more, before she fell asleep.  
“Dean,” Cas sleepily murmured, lifting her head to catch Dean’s glimpse in the mirror. Dean’s vibrant green eyes looked back at her through the reflective glass, patiently waiting for her to continue. Cas didn’t want to stutter or cry, even though she knew what she was about to say was going to be emotionally overwhelming. With a blank expression on her face, Cas continued to speak. “Corinth came back,” Cas hesitantly said, focusing her eyes on Dean’s reaction. There was no grave, disillusioned look on his face, or one of anger, but instead one of confusion. Dean crinkled up his face and his eyes looked back and forth, as if trying to think hard. Cas breathed deeply and prepared for the worst.  
“Who the h*ll is Corinth?!” Dean shouted, his voice sounding gruff and thick. Dean was looking at Cas on and off now, struggling to keep his eyes on the road. Cas slowly sat up with a weird sense of anticipation. She was wide awake now, her eyes brightly open and interested.  
“Corinth…” She nodded along, expecting Dean to pick it up by now. “The vampire,” She finished, staring at Dean. There was no spark of recognition on Dean’s face until Cas said vampire. All the sudden, the realization of Cas’ mistake dawned on her. Dean didn’t know the vampire’s name was Corinth. She had already given away a little too much, including the hidden fact that she had talked to him long enough to know his name. Dean looked from her to the road frantically, back and forth, always appearing like he was going to speak but not getting enough time. Either that, Cas thought, or he was too shocked and his words were too jumbled to get anything out.  
“What do you mean, the vampire? The one from last night?” Dean questioned loudly. Cas looked over at Sam, noticing he had his ear buds in and he was halfway asleep. Cas was thankful for that; it was hard enough telling Dean that she encountered the vampire they had vowed to kill again, and to tell both of them at the same time, conjuring up different reactions, would be too much. Cas realized she had spaced out for a moment, and Dean was still anxiously waiting for an answer. “Yes” was all Cas could think to say; she didn’t yet know if Dean was even looking for an explanation. Dean’s expression stayed the same; one of intense thoughtfulness and concern. Cas was still at full attention, leaning forward and waiting for Dean’s response. She was trying to formulate an excuse in her head, but she didn’t really need one. It’s not like she had gone and purposely sought Corinth out to get to know him better, of all things. Like always, however, Cas felt the need to defend her actions despite herself doing nothing wrong besides being too sympathetic.  
“The vampire… from the cabin…” Dean exclaimed to himself more than to Cas, like he was trying to mentally solve a problem. Dean still saw Cas from his rearview mirror; she looked worried and nervous. Dean could barely concentrate on the road and her concession at the same time. She was talking about the vamp, the same vamp, who knocked Sam out and did who knows what to him, and he was the same vamp that Cas had stopped him from killing. Cas stopped me from killing him and now she knows his name, those thoughts circulated Dean’s mind. “What happened? When?!” Dean hurriedly asked, having so many questions with no answers that only Cas could give to him. Dean didn’t want to think anything of it; Cas had always had too good of a conscience and she was always empathetic toward others’ situations. She just didn’t want him, Dean, to have blood on his hands. But now she knows his name, Dean’s mind continued, like someone suavely whispering something into his ear.  
“I don’t even know,” Cas confessed empathetically, her eyes looking solemn. She looked just as confused and riddled with anxiety as Dean felt, like she was looking at a puzzle that was missing so many pieces that it was nearly impossible to make sense of it. He could tell she was concentrating, thinking of something to say to Dean. Cas couldn’t tell if Dean was upset, but she knew if she could see his eyes, she would know. Dean’s eyes truly validated the theory that eyes were the window to the soul. They were extremely and extraordinarily expressive. Cas could tell whenever Dean was lying about how he felt just by reading his eyes. Dean would say he was sad, but his eyes flashed of anger, or he could say he was happy but Cas could see the sadness. That was his downfall and the most beautiful quality. They glittered in the darkness, and shined equally as bright in the light. Cas most of all wished she could see Dean’s eyes then, because she couldn’t bear it if Dean was genuinely mad.  
“When you stepped outside,” Dean said, glancing back at Cas. His eyes were a dazzling emerald color, accentuated by the blinding lights passing around the Impala. Each time a headlight glared, his eyes looked pixelated, like they were made up of many glittering attributes. Cas affirmed that Dean wasn’t mad, but he was definitely something else, some other defining emotion. The way his eyelids drooped a little, and how the deep-set lines by his eyes softened, he looked disappointed. Cas wasn’t sure if he was waiting for her to finish his thought for him, or if the dramatic pause was a symbol for Dean collecting his thoughts. The road outside her backseat window was flashing by, the Impala still going a steady speed. Dean wasn’t even watching the road, but by now it wasn’t even necessary. His hands were still tightly on the wheel, every now and then swerving a tad in each direction. “That was when you saw him,” he finished, looking at Cas for confirmation. Cas wasn’t sure whether to go ahead in and defend herself before Dean accused her of anything, or just sit, wait and listen. Cas opted for the latter. Dean didn’t start in or say anything after that, and neither did Cas. If she wasn’t going to give excuses, she didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t prepared for the conversation to be this normal, this civil, and she certainly didn’t expect it to be this accepting. Cas realized she had left Dean’s question unanswered. It was a simple question, a yes or no question, but Cas still wasn’t sure of how to answer. Dean must just assume what happened with Corinth was some sort of peaceful, consensual encounter, and that she had willingly and readily accepted Corinth’s and vice versa.  
“Yes, but – “  
“Don’t bother. I understand,” Dean interrupted, about to turn back toward the steering wheel. Cas was even more confused than she had started out as. Understand? Cas shouted to herself. What does he think he understands?  
“Understand what, Dean? What do you “understand?” Cas pounded in an ignorant, spiteful tone. Cas didn’t mean to practically spat at Dean, but what she was most afraid of was Dean jumping to conclusions or having assumptions that weren’t true, and then neglecting her the chance to explain. There was a tense pause between when Cas spoke and when Dean did. The tension of it all made Cas think that Dean had already made up his mind, and whatever she said to counter it was just her making baseless excuses in a desperate plea to defend her “wrong” actions. Cas stopped to think for a moment, and to mentally breathe. She really didn’t even know what she thought Dean thought. For all she knew, Dean could be thinking that she did something heroic, maybe threatened Corinth or skimmed around the friendly small talk and skipped right to the terrorizations. “Dean, what do you think?” Cas whimpered quietly, a contrast from the screaming voices in her head. Dean was slowly lifting his foot off the gas, and the Impala began slowing down. Cas peered out the window and realized Dean was pulling off to the side of the road. Cas was anxious, waiting for Dean to respond. She figured it must be some weighted answer, considering Dean didn’t even want to take the risk of driving while delivering it.  
“I understand that you don’t think Corinth is a bad person, and despite the fact that he followed us to the bunker and probably threatened to kill us, you still didn’t feel the need to eliminate him,” Dean said all in one breath. Cas didn’t know what to make of his answer, so for the next couple of seconds, she sat looking at him with a blank stare. “I know you have a conscience; a meaningful, intact, good conscience that is way more effective than mine, and I know Corinth said he didn’t bite Sam and he never bit others, so I should probably trust your judgment a lot more than my damaged one right now,” Dean continued. His response was refreshing, in the way that Cas had never heard Dean disregard his own judgment before. Cas still was speechless. There was more to it; Dean probably wanted to know what the encounter was about and why Corinth bothered showing up, and why Cas engaged him. Before she knew it, like a delayed reaction, Cas heard the sound of the tires grinding against broken asphalt and muddy grass, and felt the Impala pull back out onto the road. “So, what happened? What made the d*****bag decide that he had enough nerve to show up at the bunker,” Dean said lightheartedly, in a kind of off-putting way. Cas planned out time to formulate an answer as Sam stirred, lifting his head up and becoming more alert when one of his ear buds popped out. Cas didn’t know if Dean was still expecting her to answer or not, and Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was still planning on answering. Dean figured Corinth would be a touchy and loathed subject to bring up in front of Sam, considering he was the one that was knocked unconscious and missed all the fun stuff. Cas ignored Sam, and started to respond.  
“I just went out for some air, like I said, and then all the sudden he just showed up,” Cas explained, moving her hands around uneasily. It was silent, but somehow, Cas could sense Dean’s acknowledgment. “I was actually heading back inside the bunker when I sensed something, which turned out to be him, right behind me,” Cas continued, hoping and crossing her fingers that this was a good enough and thought out explanation. It’s not that Dean wouldn’t believe her, it was just she wanted to prove to Dean that she wasn’t as spineless as she had let on back at the house. Dean didn’t need an excuse from Cas; he believed her and would always believe her despite her undying need to defend herself. The things that Dean couldn’t let go of was what the vampire, Corinth, had wanted with Cas, or in general, for that matter. Dean cleared his throat before he spoke the next inevitable question.  
“What did Corinth want?” He grumbled, debating whether or not he really wanted to know the answer. He heard Cas’ shallow breaths from the front seat, and again wondered if he shouldn’t’ve asked.  
“He didn’t want anything,” Cas responded, coming to a revelation herself. She didn’t even know what he had wanted; he just came and left without saying anything of substance. Dean wanted to doubt this statement, because there was no other reasonable explanation for why Corinth came unless he wanted to bargain for something, but alas, he knew everything Cas was saying was the truth. Dean shrugged his tight shoulders in an attempt to loosen up from the stress that was weighing them down. “What did he say then?”  
“Dean, I barely remember,” Cas admitted honestly, a sincere look on her face. Just a few moments ago, the increment of time that she had spent with Corinth was lucid and clear in her memory, but now, after talking about it, it felt like some distant dream she only remembered bits and pieces of. Her hands, she noticed, were raw, presumably from her constantly rubbing them against the leather seats or against each other out of nervousness. “It’s like a dream…” Cas continued, shaking her head slowly, “ I remember him being there, and deep down, in the depths of my mind, I remember everything, but I guess I’ve tried so hard in recent hours to block it out it worked,” Cas sighed, apologetic. Cas could see Dean breathing heavily now, and it was a change from the short, sporadic breaths they both were having earlier. It must have been a bigger deal in Cas’ head; she overreacted the reactions she figured Dean would have. Dean seemed more rational about this than Cas had expected. He seemed to take her word for it more than she thought he would. There were no other questions lingering in the air that Dean wanted to ask, except for the universal one that Cas wanted to know also. What did Corinth want? Cas was surprised that she had never thought about it, or at least wondered. Not even in the moment did she remember herself wondering what he was there for. If he had wanted to do harm, to her or to the bunker, he surely could’ve, considering Cas was temporarily disabled by the effect he had on her. Corinth most certainly saw the knife in her hand, and despite his knowledge that she was very well-versed in using it, he was not afraid. He never once flinched when Cas brought up the knife, holding it high and steady in her hand as a warning to him. Cas may have been weak, but she had overcome injurious situations before, and she could have taken him down if he gave her reason to. Corinth wasn’t forecasting an attack, Cas thought to herself, mouthing the words as they came to her mind. Dean noticed Cas murmuring to herself through the mirror like she was in an insane asylum; only thing missing was her rocking back and forth and hitting her head against the wall. Dean couldn’t help but snicker at the thought; despite all that had happened, he was still strangely in a zestful mood. “He didn’t emerge from the shadows to attack,” Cas finally said, speaking up loudly so Dean could hear. Her voice sounded stern and sure of itself, an attitude that shocked Cas. She sounded strong when she spoke, when inside it felt like she was falling to pieces. It was the metaphor to describe her life; appearances were kept, but the walls inside were crumbling around her, leaving nothing but dust and rubble. Thoughts like these rarely came to Cas; thoughts about her life, her memories, and just reminiscing in general. It appeared like the story of her life was bits and pieces of memories floating around, but no base or foundation to connect to. She was astonished that she had even remembered Sam and Dean for this long. Jokes like that, little humorous quips, rarely ever graced Cas either but when they did undoubtedly made the often depressing mood less depressing.  
Finally, when Cas discovered she had been living in her head for too long, she continued to elaborate on her statement. “I still had the knife, from the previous encounter, when we were at the house,” Cas kept going as Dean listened. “When I saw him, I held it out, clearly for him to see and to be afraid of, but Dean, he wasn’t…” Cas ended in a dreadful voice, as if she was expecting Dean to do something about it. Dean felt complacent about what Cas was saying. He wouldn’t expect an arrogant vamp like Corinth to be afraid of a little silver pick anyway, considering he’s probably had to deal with much worse. Dean smiled proudly at his own thoughts, and then resumed listening to Cas. “It’s not that I expected him to jump, curl up, or cower away at the sight, but he had the opposite reaction to it, like he welcomed it. It also didn’t help in my defense that whatever he is, whatever kind of vampire he is, he made me live through death without dying,” Cas finished. Cas’ voiced had dropped a little toward the end, most likely because it was the part she dared let Dean hear. Cas had nearly convinced herself to drop that part all together, in fear that Dean would be too concerned and that it would devour him until he found Corinth and ripped him to shreds. Cas paused and took a breath, waiting for Dean’s questionable answer.  
“That must have been what this morning was about… some kind of aftershock,” Dean assumed, switching his arms on the steering wheel.  
“I suppose,” Cas replied, anticipating more from Dean. There was a quick quietness when Dean didn’t answer, making an awkward silence that had become all too familiar. Both Dean and Cas were blindsided when they passed a green road ride that read “Little Rock” in big, red, cursive letters. Dean and Cas were both flustered as Dean shook Sam awake and frightened him when he said in a loud, boisterous voice “We’re here!”. Nothing was resolved, and nothing was figured out, but somehow Cas had to get through another hunt without thinking about Corinth.  
As the Impala pulled into the motel parking lot, the sun had begun to set behind the big, brick, old-fashioned building. The motel looked Victorian, with its windows barred with metal that was shaped with intricate designs, and the steeple-type chimney rising prominently from the shingle-less roof. The brick was a dark auburn color, which subtly reminded Cas of foliage, with deep etches and chunks taken out of it. It looked out of place in the otherwise modern, urbanized town. If anything, it definitely seemed like the type of motel they would stay in. Inconspicuous, out-of-the-way, run-down and most of all, cheap. Dean had a knack for choosing and reserving those kinds of things. There were few cars in the lot, most of which Cas assumed belonged to the staff, and plenty of rooms that had a bright yellow door hanger swinging back and forth on the doorknob from the wind. Dean parked the Impala in the nearest spot to the door, and turned the engine off with a sputter. The remainder of the ride had been quiet and uneventful, with both Dean and Cas reserving their voices and Sam slumping in the seat with his ear buds in. Cas wished she had brought her own pair, for she would rather have had deafening noise instead of deafening silence. Most of all, though, what bothered her was Dean’s lack of reaction. Cas didn’t want to think he didn’t care, so she thought he didn’t care as much as she both hoped and dreaded he would. The thing was, caring too much and abrasively was what Dean did best, and what Cas admired about Dean. She dreamed that she could care that ferociously about someone, even to the point of aggression. Dean went in a whole other state of mind when he was thinking about something impactful like what Cas had told him. His emotions ran wild, and that kind of passion about things and others is what Cas found so fascinating. This time, however, Dean was more subdued. He acted as if he supposed Cas had it all under control and would take care of it, which she did, but she didn’t want Dean to see that. Her contradictions seemed aloof, even to herself, but considering Dean felt as if he had purpose and reason to figure things out, she felt that telling her problems to Dean and allowing him to solve them would be the best solution. She had expected Dean to, for lack of better words, to “freak out” over Corinth reappearing and knowing where the bunker was. She had predicted that he would become disconcerted over the fact that the vampire who had practically beaten Sam had followed them to the bunker, and was considered a threat, but instead, he was rather obliging about the situation. Cas had many theories about why Dean would feel and act this way, and one of them included all the stresses and concerns that had already plagued their lives. It would be too overwhelming to try to take on a task that someone else could easily handle; someone like Cas, who usually had a high tolerance for anxiety and strain. But it bothered Cas to think that Dean was disregarding the thing that had hurt his brother. If anything got to Dean, and if Dean took anything to heart, it was Sam getting hurt. Dean always blamed himself, and if he didn’t blame himself, he most definitely blamed and took his anger out on whoever did it to him. Cas thought this as she heard the sharp squeal of the driver’s seat door open. She looked up at Dean, who had already hauled himself out of the car and had his hand resting on the door. Before he could slam it shut, he made eye contact with Cas. He quickly tore his stare from her as he looked down to his feet, and slammed the door. The sound reverberated throughout the parking lot and jolted Sam awake, causing him to scramble around, rip his ear buds out, and grasp at the door handle. Cas was overwhelmed and on edge with the conversation she was having with Dean left hanging as she slowly slid to one side of the Impala and opened the door. She had a feeling they weren’t going to get to finish any time soon.  
A couple minutes after they pulled in, they were already walking back out the motel’s front swinging doors straight towards the Impala. It had taken Dean seconds to order up a room, with him using an alias and with Sam and Cas standing not too far behind. The woman behind the desk was about to give them a key before she asked Dean how many beds they would need. Dean turned around as if counting heads, and turned back announcing “three”. It was unusual that they would find a vacant room with three beds other than a place at the Hilton, and they had been quite accustomed to switching on and off between who would sleep on the beds, and who would sleep on the couch. Cas always felt a sense of guilt whenever she slept on the bed, mainly because with all of Dean and Sam’s past injuries and escapades, and considering that they did most of the “hunting”, she never really felt too deserving of it. She rarely got a full night’s sleep anyway, and now, with several distractions looming over her head, and the constant memory of Corinth afflicting her mind, she doubting tonight would be any different. She decided she would opt for the couch if there weren’t any vacancies. Cas had learned her way around the hunting world in the past years, and by now she considered herself fluent and trained for every possible situation, but somehow, someway, Dean and Sam always seemed to take the brunt of all the attacks. Cas saw Dean reach for a keycard from the woman’s outstretched hand, thank her, and turn back toward the door.  
“We’re in for a treat, tonight,” Dean said, mildly sarcastic, and he started to bolt out the door. Once they had brought their duffels into the room, Sam already had his laptop fired up and ready to go, and Dean was leaning over him from behind attentively. Cas took this opportunity to think about the day’s events. She wasn’t sure how well this next hunt was going to go if all she could think about was a vampire and Dean. She knew Dean had a way of pushing his thoughts and feelings to the side while he was on the job, and it was a rather effective one. Maybe after all this passed, and she actually spoke to Dean about the problems, he could teach her how to put her own emotions on the back burner. Flashes of Corinth’s smile, his exceptionally pearly white, jagged teeth growing into place filled her mind. She couldn’t do much but try to shake them away, but for the life of her, she couldn’t manage to do so. Corinth’s mysterious intentions haunted her, his whole purpose and reason still tucked away, and it was what she feared most. He hadn’t said a single word to her back at the bunker, or the farm house for that matter, that gave any indication of what he was after. It was like he was drawn to them, to her more specifically, the way her eyes constantly met his and were caught there, her mind and soul in a trance, where nothing mattered but to keep staring at his multi-colored orbs. A cold sweat flew over Cas as she thought about it, and she slightly jumped at the sound of Sam slamming his laptop shut. She took notice that she was breathing rapidly, almost panting, and she quickly composed herself before attracting attention from Sam and Dean.  
“We all have our silver, don’t we?” Cas mentioned nonchalantly, glancing at Sam and Dean as they both turned to look her way. Dean gave her a soft, well intentioned glare that relaxed Cas a bit, and she smiled in response. Their discussion definitely wasn’t over, but she felt a sense of relief knowing Dean wasn’t angry or aggravated with her for anything pertaining to Corinth. Sam spun around in his chair and unzipped his bag, a glint of silver already peeking out of it. As if by instinct, Cas immediately thought of the knife she had been holding, in the dark moonlight of the night before, watching the stealth blade as it glinted off the gleam from the sky. Cas gulped as Sam pulled it out, and swiftly tucked it in to his jean’s waistband.  
“You bet we do,” he responded with slyly, shoving his bag to the floor. “The news online says that there have been several attacks in this area, all male victims, and all with hearts missing, which means that this obviously is nothing short than a werewolf,” Sam said surely, nodding like he was confident and prideful in the research he had done. Dean smirked at him and let out a laugh.  
“Is it complete with the shiny grey fur and the full moon?” he asked comically, shaking his head vicariously at Cas. Cas heaved a sigh that could pass as a laugh and turned back to Sam, who flippantly rolled his eyes at Dean and pulled out an old, dusty book from his bag. He blew on it a bit before laying it out on the bed, and opening it. The yellow, crusty pages cracked as Sam hesitantly flipped through, looking for a certain page. Cas figured it had been taken from the stash back at the bunker, considering some of the writing looked like none other than the lazy scribbles of a quill pen and ink. Sam finally stopped at a page that had a piece of paper poking out from the top, and began reading out loud. It was a lore book, no doubt, which mentioned ancient medieval spells and all kinds of variations of the term branded “werewolf”.  
“So all the signs point to a version from Arabian lore, known as the “werehyena””, Sam enunciated, leaning forward and squinting into the book. Cas and Dean both waited with baited breath before a look of familiarity flashed across Sam’s face, and he continued. “It says it can be killed by a “strike to the forehead or scalp by a knife in its purest from,” Sam said nodding, glancing up at Cas with his hazel looking eyes. Cas waited a minute before she responded, anticipating Dean to beat her to the punch, but when it was silent, she answered with the obvious.  
“A knife in its purest form. That must be silver,” she deduced, waiting for Sam to crack a slow, all-knowing smile.  
The book had thousands upon thousands of entries about anything from witchcraft to water spirits, but it was nice to know they had already known what they were up against without learning from the book. Sam gently closed the cover over the worn pages, sending a puff of dust into the air, and slipped it back into his duffel. Dean had already shifted to the side, and was reaching for the knife he had hidden in the waistband of his jeans. He pulled it out, and for a second, Cas thought the air flow must’ve stopped because the sheer reflection off the carefully polished and impeccably sharpened silver was enough to increase the level of tension in the room. Dean looked stern and composed as he lifted it up, feeling his palm around the handle and lightly tossing it up in the air to catch it. The tip of the knife shone brightly off of what light the small, compact room emitted, and Cas gulped, feeling slightly threatened by it. She couldn’t help but think of when Dean must’ve sharpened the knife. She didn’t realize she was staring with her mouth agape until it was too late, and she was already hounded with the evil menacing thoughts Dean had had about Corinth, and how badly and desperately he had wanted to sink that knife deep into Corinth’s pale flesh. She could imagine him relishing in the moment he would yank it out, only to see bright red blood slowly trickling down the smooth silver. Cas came back only to see Dena staring at her, watching her watch his knife, which was now twirling in one hand. Dean stopped the knife, which pulled Cas out of her daze, and she immediately looked up at him. He was looking straight back at her with a concerned look in his eye, but the moment was distracted by Sam saying gallantly that he had pulled up the address and that it was “not too far from here”. Cas felt a sickening squeeze in her stomach, but she forced herself to stand up and make her way to her own bag where she had protectively and hurriedly stored her knife. Sam was scrawling words onto a napkin from the side table, using one of the motel’s green plastic pens, and Cas could feel Dean’s eyes boring into her back as she bent down to reach the bag.  
The knife felt heavy in her hands, weighted, as she held it. She had half the mind of letting it slip from her fingers and drop to the ground. She no longer liked the feeling it gave her, like she was strong and powerful, and she no longer wanted to feel that in control. Cas didn’t know if it was the feeling of being nauseated or undeserving, but whichever one it was, she didn’t like thinking that she hadn’t used the knife when it mattered. Suddenly, she felt a warm, enveloping touch on her shoulder. The rest of her body involuntarily shivered at the feeling, and she realized she had grown cold and anxiously sweaty. She looked up, and not to her surprise, it was Dean. She could see his mouth stuttering open, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know what, and she didn’t want to hear it. She could see a glimpse of guilt in Dean’s eyes, and she wanted to shake him and just tell him that nothing he said had made her feel this way. It was Corinth. It was the thrill of this upcoming hunt, and it was Corinth. If there ever was any worst combination, the mixture between uneasiness and adrenaline was probably it.  
Cas held on to the knife still, not letting it out of her iron-hard grip, and she rose up, casually shrugging Dean’s comforting hand off her shoulder. She slipped the knife between her leg and her waistband, the chilling cold of the metal shocking her skin. Dean had backed away, she could feel it, and when she turned around, Sam already has his bag slung over his shoulder.  
“Where are we going?” Cas asked, her voice sounding feeble and utterly incompetent. Dean had his cold stare focused on the door, and the rerun of Dean running his knife errantly through Corinth’s flesh caught Cas’ breath in her throat.  
“There’s only one “cave” in this entire town, and if this thing’s going by the old school lore, then I know exactly where he’s hiding out,” Sam answered, taking Cas’ arm gently in his hand and ushering her toward the door. Dean was shoving a little black bag into his pocket just as she was walking up, and Cas swore she saw a variety of white markings scattered all over it. A hex bag. It was a hex bag. The realization dawned on Cas like a bag of bricks. It was a hex bag, with white carvings, used to ward against wiccans, witches, and vampires, specifically. Cas felt like she was choking on air when she came to a stop, when Sam let go of her arm to reach for the door handle. Time seemed to move slowly in those few moments, and Cas intently watched as Dean’s nimble fingers slipped off the black fabric and let it rest comfortably in his pocket. Normally, Cas wouldn’t be fazed by this whatsoever. In fact, she had her own selection of hex bags buried deep inside the Impala’s trunk. But even she, the “inexperienced” hunter, knew that hexes in no way, shape or form could protect against werewolves. It was useless. The bag was meant to mask the scent of them as they came closer, but since werewolves’ sense of smell was so strong and so flagrant, it wouldn’t matter whether they had them or not. Maybe Dean didn’t think she knew better. Maybe he didn’t even know she’d been watching him, seeing the bag fit snugly into his pocket, or maybe he wanted her to see that this Corinth business wasn’t over. Either way, Cas had seen him, and for some reason, Cas could sense that he didn’t want her to.  
The air inside the Impala was suffocating as they drove; Cas practically begged to crack a window open slightly just to let in a burst of cool, fresh air. Cas didn’t mention what she saw in the Impala, and she figured if anything, maybe the hex bag would help. If Corinth really did have an endgame like Dean suspected he did, then taking the hex bag was a wise protective measure. Something about it though, the way he had carried it sneakily like he didn’t want her to know about it, made her uncomfortable. She tried not to allow her mind to linger on such troubling thoughts for long, and instead focused on the hunt.  
She had asked Sam to toss back the newspaper clippings and the folders he had compiled on each victim so she could look over them and catch up on what she had missed during her upset back at the motel. There were several articles over the “incidents”, and no matter how many times Cas saw it, it still shocked her that people could think that the attacks were caused by bears, or any other wild animal that wasn’t native to the area. How many of them blamed a simple car wreck for it. In her mind, it was a lot easier believing it was a monster, considering that was all she knew anymore. She skimmed through the reports, tried to spare herself the gory details, and ended up with nothing more than Dean and Sam. She didn’t expect to make a new discovery; she had just wanted something to keep her mind busy. The word “monster” rang in her head a few times too many when she had thought it, and she couldn’t get rid of it. Little reviews of her and Dean’s conversation at the house the night before came back to her. She wanted to bury, cement, and curse those memories to the back of her mind; lock them away so she could never see or think of them again. Cas sat the papers in the seat next to her, huffing an exasperated sigh. She crossed her arms and leant back into the seat, letting the cool feel of leather sooth her. She felt restless, repeatedly shifting positions and opening and closing her eyes. She wasn’t ready for this hunt. She wasn’t ready to continue. The debacle with Corinth was hanging over her head, screaming “guilty” and “trouble” at her, and no matter what she did, it didn’t leave her mind. The little she had slept made her drowsy, but whenever her eyes fell closed, the taunts came back. She had only slept two hours, and the entire time, she was haunted by Corinth’s icy glare and mesmerizing stare. The Impala was usually a safe haven, and sometimes more comfortable than a bed, and she normally felt safe in it, with the arsenal in the trunk and Sam and Dean on alert up front. Now it was a nightmare. All she could think about was the ride to the bunker from the farmhouse. It was taking over her mind, piece by piece, until she finally saw horrifying images of Dean killing and murdering in front of her whenever she looked at him. She wasn’t going to tell Dean; she couldn’t. It was the most repulsing feeling in the entire world to have hallucinations of someone like Dean, someone as close to her, as protective, as righteous as Dean, sliding his knife through Corinth out of hate. She didn’t know what to do, but she knew she couldn’t hunt in the position she was in. She could barely hold her own knife without her hand trembling like a frightened animal. She didn’t even want to think about her freezing up and not being able to move when they needed her while chasing down the werewolf. If she couldn’t contain and protect herself, she certainly couldn’t back Dean and Sam up.  
That was motivation enough to find a way to stop whatever it was that was causing her this distressed state of mind. She thought maybe it was the after effects of the spell Corinth has put her under; his strange, new toxic result of being near her. He had brought on a sickness that Cas had never experienced before in the face of a vampire, or anything evil. It was so strong that it had brought her to her knees, completely vulnerable and at Corinth’s mercy. He had control, yet he seemed just as confused as she was at his “power”. He could have done anything he wanted. He could have stormed the bunker Cas was supposed to be protecting, he could have killed Sam and Dean, and he could have killed her for that matter, or at least unarmed her. He didn’t. He just stood there, seemingly waiting for a worthy opponent to go up against. Like he would rather have a fight than a surrender. Cas figured that maybe Corinth’s presence wasn’t required for his effect, maybe it was just the notion of him. He was possibly strong enough to attack someone through mere thought. Cas couldn’t even begin to think about what all he could do besides traveling brain signals. He was strong and persistent, she knew that, and the scariest part was that she didn’t know why.  
She awoke from her startled state of mind when she noticed Dean pulling the Impala over into a clearing surrounded by trees and bushes. It was the perfect place to hide the car while they were hunting. Cas took a deep breath and stepped out of the car, expecting the cool air to spike her senses. Instead, it was warmer than she expected, like the climate had suddenly changed only an hour away from subzero temperatures. Both Dean and Sam didn’t seem to think much of it, so Cas didn’t bother mentioning it. Consciously, Cas saw Dean reach into his pocket and feel around until he felt the hex bag, then pull his hand back out. She tried not to roll her eyes, but as she looked away, her breathing staggered. Sam had already drawn his knife and was holding it readily by his side. Cas glanced over at him, trying to conceal what she thought might look like an alarmed stare.  
“Gotta be ready for whenever this thing shows, right?” Sam retorted, making a shrugging motion. Cas smiled and pulled her knife from her jeans, holding it in the same position as Sam. Dean quickly took the lead, walking deep into the shrubbery until what looked like a den appeared.  
“This must be it,” Cas murmured, staying calm and steady. She had been graceful and stealthy as usual while walking through the forest, careful not to step on rogue branches or decaying leaves. Cas looked over at Dean, who was right across from her. The moonlight didn’t shed light on much, but Cas clearly saw the sparkle of Dean’s green eyes and the slight nod of his head. His jawline was sharply defined in the minimal light, and he looked intimidating. Cas took a step just as Dean did, making certain to stay in sync. The moon above was a full moon, Cas noticed, and it was prime time for a werewolf stakeout.  
The distant sound of cars swooshing by was a comforting sound. It let Cas know that no matter how deep into this they got, they were never too far away from safe, normal civilization. Cas snapped back when she noticed Dean eyeing her. The whites of his eyes seemed overpowering, watery and bright, and the wideness of his glare looked like he was worried. Cas shot him a derisive expression back, tightening her knuckles around her blade until they whitened. Dean seemed to notice and backed off, glancing at Sam reassuringly before taking a cautious step forward, angling his knife just so in the space in front of him. Cas repeated his action, mimicking his stance, as she squinted her still-adjusting pupils into the darkness of the cave. There was no movement that she could see, but the swiftness of werewolves clearly weren’t always visible to the eye. Cas looked down at herself, at her widespread feet and her white-knuckled hands, and at her knife, sharp and lethal. It took her a minute to comprehend that the knife was shaking as a result of her own fear, and she quickly resolved her grip on it and refused to let herself be carried away by her rampant emotions. As if on cue, Dean announced his next move; it was almost as if he had been waiting for the silent confirmation from Cas to continue.  
“For all we know, this “werehyena” or whatever it is could be anywhere on these acres,” Dean stated gruffly, his tone sounding agitated. Cas took one look at him and knew it was an act, a tactic, per say, that allowed Dean to show some humility. She knew just as well as Sam and Dean did that this Arabian devil was in the cave, or at least near it, and the falsified uncertainty only made the confidence in the hunt more thrilling. Dean smirked at her, validating her suspicions, and she smiled warily right back.  
“You storm the front, I’ll attack the back,” Dean whispered hastily, so close to Cas she could feel warm breath on her ear. Cas frantically nodded, still processing what Dean said, and scrambled to regain her composure against the gust of wind that had started to fiercely blow. Dean motioned to her, pointing behind him, signaling that he would be at the back of the cave. The strong winds made Cas’ eyes water, making her image of Dean blurry. She replied by a quick shake of the head that Dean took as an “okay”, and Sam appeared next to him as they both started toward the thick, concealing trees.  
Her mind swam with adrenaline and the need to make a plan, her brain working at overdrive as she watched Sam and Dean’s forms disappear. Immediately, she felt her feet pick up and carry her quickly to the edge of the cave, right beside the entrance. Her body seemed to be ready, attentive and present, while her mind checked out. So many different things blew around in her head, from Corinth to Dean’s hex bag, to calling Sam a “monster”, and finally, it rested on the tantalizing image of a pale white, dark-haired man with beautiful eyes. She heaved before she could control it, doubling over in one swift move. Nothing came out of her mouth, but she could feel her stomach clench and unclench, around emptiness. The realization dawned on her that she hadn’t had anything to eat, and before she could contemplate what it meant, a pounding skull-shattering headache began to set in. Cas reflexively tilted her head back, accidentally smacking it into the hard rock of the cave. She let out a huge breath, her skull aching even more from the pain, and she took several slow breaths, in and out. Her stomach ceased to churn, at least for the minute, and her headache suddenly dwindled down to a dull throbbing. Now, it seemed, it only hurt because of her collision with the cave instead of from the inside. She straightened out hesitantly, not wanting any sudden motion to regress her stomach, and stood apart from the cave’s entrance. The night was still quiet, just as quiet as before, except the rustling coming from the wind in the trees. Instinctively, Cas lifted a hand to her head, patting around the back of it, not finding any blood. It was odd, her stomach suddenly content, and her migraine being reduced to a distant thud against her skull. The calm almost seemed serene now, and Cas contemplated just walking back to the Impala and resting.  
With resistance, she jerked her mind out of those thoughts and thrust it back into hyper drive, or “hunting” mode. Her head was clearer now than it had been; her thoughts weren’t muddled or clouded like before. Cas immediately went back to the cave, and slipped inside with stealth and silence. The cave was dark, pitch black, and her footfalls were only being guided by the shine of the pocket flashlight she had on hand. It wasn’t much, but Cas thought it wiser to not make a scene or a flamboyant entrance with a bright flashing light, and instead sneak in and out without a trace. As she got deeper and deeper, and the minutes passed, the cave became hollowed, with more room and obviously thinner rock walls. The dark expanded throughout the cave, endless as she went on. Her steps were beginning to echo, and as Cas looked down, she realized she was no longer treading on dirt or gravel, but a hard rock plate, that was seemingly connected to the walls. The air seemed cooler and stale where she was, the only source of it coming from the entrance of the cave, which now was about a mile away. Cas turned back to look forward, the deep black continuing on. She squinted again, and tried to make out anything ahead of her, with the minimal help the flashlight offered. She kept on going, stepping lightly, while to avoid any ditches or rocks in the way. She felt droplets of something cold and wet hit her shoulder repeatedly, the icy feel of it shocking her skin. There was no visible light anywhere now, excluding her flashlight. Cas sighed in the thinning air, and ran her left hand through her now-damp hair. As if on cue, a glowing, yellow-orange light burst up from around the corner of the cave, casting a shadow near where Cas was standing. Practically blinded by the sudden transition from dark to light, Cas watched as the light stayed, illuminating the deepest depths of the cave. Small, faint sounds of something dragging across the ground brought Cas back to awareness, and she clicked off her flashlight and stepped forward. The light was a fire, shakily and flimsily built on the cave floor with little wood. The flames danced in the air, licking up whatever oxygen was still left in the damp, cold atmosphere. Cas focused her dilated pupils the best she could, staring straight at the fire. Her suspicion and curiosity overwhelmed her as she took a tepid step forward, peering beyond the corner. Her eyes grew big and her face turned as pale as a ghost, her entire body convulsing at the sight that was before her. Her mouth fell open, and before she could regain equanimity, her flashlight slipped from her loose fingers, landing on the ground with a sharp clang. Cas latched onto the wall, willing herself to stay up and not collapse to the ground out of utter shock and disbelief. Disbelief, actually, was the wrong word. Unexpected was more the word to describe the scene playing out before her eyes.  
There was a man, with his throat slit, being held up by another man who had a tight grip around his neck, encouraging the blood flowing from the sliced vein to continue to go steady. Blood was trickling down the victim’s built and bulging body, seeping into the dead, faintly blue skin and dying it red. The bleeding man was clearly dead; pools of blood spotting all around the cold, hard ground. His eyes were open, though, opaque and glassy with a white film glazed over them. Cas was shaking violently, her stomach ready to crawl out through her mouth, and her eyes welling up with tears of disgust. Normally sights like these weren’t nearly as revolting; she was used to seeing death and blood, coming from demons. But something about the reckless look of the kill, the way the jagged knife marks crisscrossed his body, like whoever did it was desperate and needy to see the life drain out of him. The taller man, the sleek-haired, pale-looking one, suddenly, as if on command, tilted his head up sharply, his nose in the air, like he was smelling something. Cas took a defensive step forward, her hands balling up into fists, until she looked back down at the man laying now on the ground, black, blue and red, and saw his teeth. She thought on first instinct that the thing doing the killing was the Arabian werewolf, but now, seeing the pointy, distinct edges of the glittering teeth in the dead thing’s mouth, she realized with confusion and appall that she was wrong. The bile that was left in her crept up her throat, slowly, letting her feel the acidy burn, and she desperately fought to swallow it back down. The pale man craned his neck sharply, as if looking behind him with peripheral vision, and Cas stood frighteningly still, as stiff as board. It was then that Cas could see the sharp outline of his nose, protruding out in a familiar way, but the observation fell away as she watched the man kneel down. Carefully, almost with precision, the sharp-nosed man cupped and held the dead werewolf’s head in his hands. Cas’ breathing stuttered, waiting anxiously, for what she didn’t know, but her hands were trembling and her skin felt thin and cold. The living man tightened his hold around the werewolf’s face, and firmly slid his hands down until his fingers were wrapped forcefully around his neck. Cas painfully admired as the tall man’s fingernails dug into the already drained skin, and Cas’ breath stopped in her throat almost as if on cue and constricted, threatening to choke her to death. Cas tried to heave in a huge breath, but her throat stayed closed tight. She grasped at her neck, squeezing and massaging around, trying to find a way to alleviate her lungs. The tips of her fingers were already a deep blue, and it was only a matter of time before spots of black crept into her vision and started blanketing the image in front of her. Cas could scarcely make out the scene before her, but just as her eyes were rolling back into her skull, she watched as the taller man quickly twisted his hands, and with an eerie sense of elegance and grace, snapped the dead man’s neck with a loud crack. Before Cas could utter the word “stop”, her airway opened, and just like a gust of wind, oxygen flooded her throat, gushing in and out in an attempt to satiate her need for it. She unceremoniously dropped to the ground, barely keeping herself upright on her knees and hands. Her eyes were burning, sizzling with the heat that accompanied the blood rushing to her brain. She could barely think, her brain pounding so voraciously against her skull that she could nearly hear it crack. Her head felt heavy and her neck strained from holding it up, but suddenly the situation came back to her and she panted again with baited breath, terrified and hesitant to glance up at what lay before her.  
“Stop,” she heard herself whisper in an unfamiliar raspy voice, which sounded like she was on her fifth smoke of the night. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the sting of the dryness of them melding into the soft tears that were welling up in the corners of her eyes. “Just…stop,” she repeated, her mind still swimming in a daze, but she could hear herself speak, faintly. Cas wasn’t prepared to beg, but as she took into consideration the lack of strength and the frailty of her body, and the fragility of her mind, she let her subconscious mumble whatever pleas it needed to in order to survive. It was the sick feeling again, coming full blast, churning in her stomach slow and thick. Her throat contracted, and the motion was painful. Only in seconds, she began to actually feel the cold rock beneath her hands. It was like a concussion was finally fading away; herself becoming more aware gradually in what felt like seconds. Sooner than later, she could only hear the thick heavy sounds of her breathing, echoing in the frigid, empty dampness of hollow rock. Cas’ sight returned, even the slightest light making her somewhat uncomfortable, but she balanced on her hands and the knobs of her knees. Cas blinked away the raw feeling around her eyes, and as she started to look forward, her gaze stopped short on black shoes stationed beyond her. Her heart was minute thumping now, but only because she willed it to be. The shiny, sleek black shoes in front of her were nearing her towards a panic attack, but she knew she couldn’t afford one after what had just happened. She peered back down to see the tips of her fingers trying to dig into the stone, and when she brought them up, bits of skin were ripped and bloody. Cas was trembling, both from the cold and from what she would encounter when standing up. Her mind was in slow motion, registering things in a delay, but as soon as Cas thought about the fact that this thing had made her sick she froze in place.  
The air around her became instantly colder, and too dense. Cas’ eyes widened and stayed that way as the realization hit her, almost sending her body smashing back onto the cave floor because of how violently her arms and legs were shaking. There was only one explanation, and as soon as Cas became reacquainted with the strangely familiar aura around her, she knew instantaneously her suspicions were correct. It was Corinth.  
The moment Cas realized it was Corinth, all the feelings, thoughts, and memories of the last couple days dissipated. Her mind was clear but her words were scattered, and she didn’t know what to say. The sight before her was overwhelming, and for a split second, Cas questioned if she was in shock. The air was completely still, and her hands and legs ceased to shake. Sometime between the familiarity and now, she had stood up off the ground, facing Corinth. Her mouth opened and closed again, and before she could process what to say, words tumbled out of her mouth uncontrollably.  
“What…” She began, her eyes scanning all around her. She visibly quirked her head to look slightly behind Corinth, who was looking to the side, and she glanced down at the horrible, gruesome, bloody mess. She looked up to meet Corinth’s eyes, but all she caught was his profile. She couldn’t decode his look or his thoughts from just looking at him from the side, but she was able to tell his eyes were angled down, examining his own handiwork. Cas felt horrified, suddenly noticing the blood trailing up and down Corinth’s hands and his forearms. There was even blood spatters all along the walls, little thin lines seeping into the cracks. The lighting in the cave was still wild, the flames consistent, and the shadows of her and Corinth’s bodies casting across the walls haunting. “What did you do?” Cas heard herself sputter, mumbling feebly. Her voice sounded broken, cold and raw, likely from the range of emotion and feelings she had experienced throughout the night. The area around her eyes was wet, and a little too late, she realized she was crying. Tears were streaking down her face, but her eyes were still wide, attentive on Corinth. He hadn’t moved from where he was; his eyes still complacently staring at the ground and his head angled down. Cas couldn’t possibly think of anything else to say; her mouth was dry and she was literally speechless. She had so many unanswered suspicions and questions that she was too stunned to even start asking. Corinth was here, in this cave, covered in blood. She had watched as Corinth bled out and snapped the werehyena’s neck. Cas’ eyes were glazed over, staring absentmindedly at his hands, which were curling in and out reflexively. She was well aware that her body had gone still, the beating of her heart distant, and her breathing echoing faintly in the background. The red slowly trickling down his fingers was mesmerizing, and she would deny later that the first word to come to her mind while admiring it was “artful”. This description was creepy, and it coming to her mind was out of the bounds of her control. Cas snapped herself back, and realized the salty tears had dried on her face. Her attention was focused on Corinth now, and all the questions she had bubbling under the surface were coming to an over flow. “How did you do this,” She said, more stating than asking in a mortified tone. Corinth flinched under this disapproving attitude, and tilted his head to the side, so that Cas could see the fire burning bright in his eyes.  
Cas half-expected to see sadness in them, maybe even regret, but was taken aback when all she saw was pride and frustration. And not directed at himself. At her. Cas took an instinctive step back, and mechanically mapped out the way out of the cave in her mind as she watched Corinth. Corinth for a minute looked broken, and maybe weak, but now looking at him, all Cas saw was a strong, avenging, cunning monster. Corinth gave his head a shake, sending his disheveled hair back into place. Cas was too appalled to even speak. The very thought of Corinth being here, in front of her, after all that had happened, was too much to bear. Her next urgent question wasn’t too far behind the first. “How- did you follow us? Dean, Sam and I?” She asked, and she could clearly articulate the wavering in her own voice. Like it would give out any minute. If it did, she would let it, because she couldn’t comprehend any other way to express the absolute terror that was wreaking her body. Corinth, in one swift motion, lifted his eyes to Cas. His head was still tilted down, and when he looked up, his hair was covering his face. Cas could still make out the glassy, sharp eyes that reminded her of icicles through the thick strands of black hair. His pupils were large, dilated, like how eyes are after coming down from an adrenaline high. The area surrounding his eyes was anything but white; little strings of blood lining all around his irises. They were bloodshot, from anger, rage and energy. The colors colliding together were strong, forceful, like melding them together wasn’t an option so they all stood out prominently, the reds, the blues, the whites and the stormy greys. It was a defining look about him that Cas couldn’t mistake for the world. The distinct contrast of the colors from his eyes and the paleness of his face was another. His white, papery thin skin was something Cas was constantly and irrevocably reminded of in her dreams. Or nightmares. Usually the latter. Cas didn’t realize she was staring until she noticed Corinth was staring back. She didn’t know what he saw, but she knew what it probably looked like. Like she was torn apart inside, like her soul had come up her throat was strewn about in pieces on the ground. She figured that’s what he saw in her lifeless, empty eyes, because that’s how she felt.  
She didn’t know what she expected, but she certainly didn’t presume the reaction she received. Some sort of remorse she figured was due, but she knew her gut instinct was to think twice and remember that the thing that did the killing was no better than the thing that got killed. She relied and belied on that intuition the moment she saw it. The small, minute but detectable sinister grin spreading across Corinth’s face, scrunching his features. The fire was once again returned to his eyes, and the aura he brought about, the painful, sinful one, flushed back with full force. Time stood still for the few seconds it took Corinth to shake the hair out of his eyes and look Cas dead on, unfeeling and indifferent.  
“Yes,” he responded, the sound of his voice filling up the pit in Cas’ stomach. It felt heavy, heeding emotion, and when he spoke it drained out of him and into her. Cas gathered that this was the sick feeling, except weaker, tamer. Not purposeful. The concept grasped onto Cas as she made the connections in her head, concisely linking the dots. With her mind calculating and her awareness present, Cas was at attention. The answer was quick and snappy, but carried a weight that Cas hadn’t determined. There was a whiff of something in the response, like regret or guilt, but the shield Corinth had up prevented her from penetrating and seeking further clues.  
“What are you doing here,” Cas asked in a monotone voice, looking straight ahead at the cave wall beyond Corinth. The flames portrayed Corinth as if he were ten feet tall, towering above anything and everything else. He looked intimidating, just as he had looked outside the bunker.  
“I followed you here,” He answered bluntly, a twinge of certainty in his voice.  
Cas was unamused by his obliviousness. “I see that,” She replied, stone-cold and as stern as she could muster. She was afraid, and she was confused and wanting answers. Cas was going to get them no matter what. The questions she had carried so much weight that if and when lifted off her shoulders, she would be relieved of a huge burden that would set her free. Free from Corinth’s control on her mind. “Why?”  
“Why do you think?” He retorted.  
She was through with toddling around the things she wanted to know. A smartass answer like this one made her boil inside, her blood hot and fists angrily tighten. If she were Dean, she would shoot a silver bullet through his arrogant skull. She would grip the knife in her hand with purpose and send it into his chest, and stay and watch the blood spill out. But she wasn’t. She couldn’t. The knife she held was on the ground, out of her reach, in between her and Corinth. If he had any idea what she was thinking about, he didn’t let on. He just stared, with the same glorious intensity as the last time.  
“You tell me,” Cas stuttered, relaying his rhetorical question back. She returned his stare, if only to coax the explanations out of him, but it was too much to stare into his eyes and feel the sickly aura at the same time. The one she had experienced several times now; the one that Dean knew as her “fainting” spell. She wanted to be careful, to be awry of the next time Corinth looked like he would harness his power, knowingly or otherwise.  
“I heard you were on a hunt,” Corinth slurred, his eyes squinting slightly. He again looked away, unable to hold consistent eye contact. Cas could perceive it as guilt, but knowing him better than she should, she knew it was his way of being intimidating. Cas followed along, waiting for him to continue. She was aware of Corinth’s every move, down to the way his feet shifted on the ground and how his middle finger and thumb rubbed lightly together. She was vaguely keen to the fact that these were generally nervous tendencies, and it gave her the boost of confidence she needed to push forward.  
“So you tracked us here,” She finished for him, impatient. She had already assumed Corinth was as stealth as they came, had the appearance of a ghost and the speed of light, but she didn’t know how he had gotten to the cave and killed the werehyena without either her, Dean or Sam seeing him. “How did you get into the cave before me if you were following us?” She asked, a bit hesitant. It was only then that she realized she was shifting too, and averting her eyes up and down Corinth’s body. If he was as attentive as she was, he probably noticed these things.  
“I suppose I’m just that stealthy,” He responded, sharply and concisely. His eyes slowly drifted up to meet hers, and instantly her pupils seemed to dilate. Her shakiness and uneasiness seemed to fade, looking into the deep crystals that were entrapped in his eyes. They were cutting; the edges finely grated to a jagged point, and staring at them for too long she figured would conjure the same effect as Bloody Mary. Blood, blood, and more blood. The thought of red started her eyes to stare at his hands, which were now stained like they were divulged in cranberry juice. His fists were clenching and unclenching still, as if testing the waters of her presence. The howling wind from beyond the depths of the cave filled the hollow silence with bellowing drawls. Cas’ anger was about to surface at his answer that neglected to take her seriously.  
“How did you even know about this? Were you there? In the motel room?”  
“You’re not that stupid to assume I was in the motel room-“  
“But you were there. Listening somehow. You’ve been here ever since that night,” Cas cut in, anger, distrust and fear all melding into one, making her voice quiver with both hesitance and fierceness. The dead animal was still behind Corinth; the blood seeping from his sides visibly coagulating. The whole situation was too much; too overwhelming. Cas was started to pray for Dean and Sam to appear to clean this mess up for her, but the more she thought and stood, in the presence of the root of the problem, she knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.  
“I left the night you warned to me to stay away. I became one with the wind,” He continued on dreamily. The suaveness of his words slipped and slid over Cas; the poetic tone in his answer disconcerting her.  
“So you waited until you figured the coast was clear to track us down. So that when you heard about the werehyena, you-“  
“I know nothing of a werehyena.” He said with a calming veracity of certainty. His head was cocked achingly to the side, and he was staring at Cas through pupils of glass from the corners of his eyes.  
“What do you mean? What you just- just killed, was-“  
“That wasn’t a werehyena.”  
Cas was fueled with enough anger that by the time Corinth had the nerve to interject again, she wasn’t going to sit around continuing the offset gingerly conversation with him. She wasn’t going to dawdle around him like last time. She had been undisposed of Dean’s reluctance to berate her, even though she was positive she messed up and made a dire mistake in letting Corinth go, and she wasn’t going to wait so that Dean would have yet another thing to be mad about. Allowing Corinth to play his vampiric mind games wasn’t going to get him off this time, and it sure wasn’t going to deter her from stopping him.  
“What do you mean it wasn’t a werehyena? We didn’t just come here guns blazing, completely unaware of what was awaiting us,” she spat, throwing her hands out into the air wildly, but weakly. Cas was far past anxious, and the anger and confusion bubbling inside of her was rising to the top, threatening to boil over. Little bits of steam trickled from the top and sizzled on the burner, and the sarcastic comebacks she was making now were consequences of it.  
Corinth was still, unmoving with the exception of his hands, which were slightly twitching. Cas’ uneasiness was back, and with the strong stench of blood and the pungent smell of fear that still lingered, she took a step behind her. She was close enough to Corinth still that she could feel the heat radiating off of his skin, the strength from his body leaving him in powerful puffs.  
“Clearly, you and Dean haven’t been as thorough and as smart as you think. Come to think of it, maybe the bite I left on Sam’s neck is still affecting him somehow,” He sneered cockily, jerking on side of his mouth up into a satisfied smirk.  
“Well, it’s too bad you aren’t as cold and machismo as you think you are. We both know you didn’t touch Sam. Maybe Dean still has his suspicions, but I know,” Cas replied coolly, seeing through Corinth and his virility. Corinth’s expression seemed to soften a bit at the revelation, remembering that Cas didn’t just defend him, she let him go twice. Cas’ fists ache for a pounding, the memories of all the nightmares and anxiety that Corinth caused making her fists ball. Her acceptance, or more so, tolerance of Corinth is running lower minute by minute and becoming increasingly undeserved. Dean was right; Dean is always right. Corinth should’ve died to begin with, which would have spared them a bunch of problems, including the one facing Cas at the moment.  
“So,” Cas starts, folding her arms tight across her chest to stop them from shaking, “if this wasn’t a werehyena, then what was it?” Cas asked with both an air of prudence and suspicion. Corinth’s grin turned slack-mouthed and he turned once again toward the thing that was continuously bleeding out on the floor.  
Cas’ stare followed, but quickly snapped back to Corinth once he began to answer. “Ever heard the saying “takes one to know one?” Well, I know one,” Corinth replied, tossing the bit of mockery into his voice that Cas had thrown him earlier. The riddle made Cas stop what she was doing; her mind stop thinking and her fingers stop twiddling. She glanced back over at the- what she thought was- a werehyena, and out of the corner of its bloody mouth she saw sharpened teeth.  
“It,” Cas began, unfolding her arms, keeping her breathing steady and even, despite the fact that her heart was beating out of her chest and her head was pounding. “It was a vampire?” She recognized the stuttering in her own voice, but she also let disbelief wash through. There was no way the thing they were hunting was a werehyena. Cas witnessed Sam read through the facts of the case and draw conclusions. She watched his nimble fingers flip through the old, crusty book, page by yellow page, gathering the information and the affirmation. They had done their research, her, Sam, and Dean, no differently than they had done several other cases. Like all the hunts they had ever done. The more Cas gaped though, the more an unsettling, unwanted feeling pitted in her stomach.  
“Why?” Cas asked, feeling lightheaded and a bit breathless.  
“Why what?”  
“Why all of this? Any of it?” Cas glared at Corinth, hurt and distress shadowing her eyes and morphing her expression into one of a mourning widow. Her pupils enlarged, making they shine and glimmer with wetness, and Corinth felt a ball pull tight in his stomach. It clenched his insides, and made him feel almost pity for her, although he didn’t know why. He cleared his throat, the deep, rumbling sound echoing throughout the hollow cave.  
Cas waited for a moment, listening to the small sounds of cicadas beyond the darkness of the confinement she was in. Corinth cleared his throat, and seemed on edge for the first time out of the entire time she was talking to him. Eventually there came no answer and Cas was left only to hear the sounds of her own disparity. “Why did you follow us?” She demanded, leaning forward for emphasis. Corinth looked unfazed by this request, and continued to clamp and unclamp his jaw together until Cas was sure his teeth (fangs) were cracked. The silence of the cave made her heartbeat more apparent, and made her a little more menacing. “Answer me!” Cas heard herself shout, her balled fists shaking in the cool, damp air, and her voice cracking. Cas could tolerate a little back and forth if that’s what it took for answers. After all, that’s what she was trained for. Dean especially had told her that no matter how long it took, that she should get answers. She wasn’t going to fail Dean at the expense of Corinth again.  
Corinth had shifted minutely to the side the next moment Cas became aware again. Her vision unclouded with the decreasing anger and she now felt more composed. At least, as composed and put together as she could be. Her hair was tangled, strands of it falling by her shoulders and the rest on her back. Her skin felt sticky, damp to the touch, and her muscles were weakened and tired. The only thing fully sharp and alert was her mind, and unlucky for Corinth, that was really all she needed. There were several other ways Cas thought that she could phrase what she wanted. What is your goal? What are you trying to do? Who are you? The one burning, itching from beneath her skin was the latter. The answer she would retrieve for all of them was the first. Corinth’s purpose, which was mysteriously and questionably unknown.  
“You do realize that you were unprepared for this hunt,” Corinth replied, undisposed and as lightly as achievable. His tone of voice held a fluttery matter-of-fact tone, but in an even more nonchalant manner. Like Cas had simply asked where the bathroom was. The indescribable rage was inching back; the questioning of Dean and Sam’s skills setting her off. Hunting was all they did; it was a lifestyle. It was even more than that. Cas was half-convinced that hunting was the very soul in Dean’s body, the very air he breathed in and out. When Cas had voiced her theory out loud, Dean playfully and jerkily corrected her, saying he didn’t breathe it, he “snorted” it, the only “effective” way, and that was when Cas knew that hunting and Dean were one. No one besides Dean could be so Dean about something like hunting demons, so the title and the existence of a hunter was only his birth rite. Cas all but grinned at the thought, but with the combination of the situation, her surroundings, and her physical weakness, it came out like a grimace. When she came back to reality, Corinth’s face read of both humor and concern. Concern for what, she didn’t know. But what she did know was that the research Sam and Dean had done wasn’t wrong, like Corinth said. Everything, including the werehyena that suspiciously does look like a vampire, must be a big setup. It took a few wholesome minutes for Cas to regain her footing and to retort back to Corinth, and while she was thinking, her mind began wandering and the space around her started to blur.  
Corinth all but snapped his fingers and Cas’ steered her attention towards him, whose attention and what looked like adoration was on the dead vampire in the corner of the room. Cas’ vision followed, and once again, for the hundredth time that night, landed on the sad, bloody sight that made her stomach toil.  
“So it was a vampire,” Cas murmured, in a barely audible tone, but Corinth’s ears perked up at it, and his eyes flickered with pride. The air in the room went stale, and the sound of the cave was calm and silent. The realization, or confirmation for Cas, seemed to even out the waves in the air a bit, and settle her heart rate. It was an odd feeling to experience, going from worked up and wired to the serene, cool feeling she was feeling now, and it made her apprehensive.  
She took a few steps forward until she was right in front of the vampire. The blood was now sticky beneath her, and her shoes pulled off the cave floor with some resistance. Cas could feel a heavy presence coming toward her from behind, and could sense Corinth’s body looming over her. She tilted her head to the side and caught a glimpse of Corinth’s face, admiring his handiwork from behind her shoulder.  
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slight nod of Corinth’s head. The shocked feeling that came from that confirmation made Cas’ heart beat a tad faster. It wasn’t a werehyena; it was a vampire. A fanged, bloody, evil-doing vampire. A vampire like Corinth. Cas could hear her heart thump loudly in her ears, and with Corinth’s supernatural sense of hearing, she assumed he could also. There was one question left now burning at the bottom of her soul, just eating away at her. She dared not break the silence though. Corinth, a vampire, killed a vampire. Snapped his neck and led the blood trickle out. With his own two hands. It was strange, that though it was technically the same thing, it was nothing like knowing a human killed another human. Cas wasn’t part of a pack, or a clan, but she knew as much that they were loyal to each other. Extremely loyal; die-for-each-other loyal. Cas was solid in her place, and now Corinth was so close she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. The hair on her neck stood up, and Cas could almost see Corinth right now. She could almost feel his hand lifting, slightly bent, and about to settle on her shoulder. Cas took a jerky step away, twisting her shoulder out of Corinth’s reach. Her curiosity made her skull ache, and before she could decide to keep her mouth shut, it was too late.  
“Why did you kill a vampire?” Cas asked, stuttering a bit. The air had turned cooler as the night went on, and Cas now noticed how late it must be. How long it had been since she’d seen Dean and Sam. How they should’ve arrived by now.  
Corinth must have heard her clearly, because now he was looking down, his shoulders and arms drawn together. From a distance, it looked like maybe he was upset, like maybe finally what he had done got to him and he was ashamed, sorrowful. But Cas caught the glint in his countenance, the sharp dazzling flame of excitement in his eyes. Cas knew he regretted nothing, but still, the question lingered. The vampire wasn’t after Corinth, so that couldn’t have been motive. As far as Dean and Sam knew, he was a loner, one that hunted on the side of highway and brought his winnings back to the cave. It couldn’t’ve been self-defense. Cas had seen up front what Corinth was capable of. The vampire they had profiled hadn’t even looked that confrontational; that aggressive. They had expected this to be an easy hunt, which Cas was grateful for. Her current state was as fragile as a china doll, and even if Sam didn’t realize it, Dean did, and Ca silently thanked him for it. But all of Cas’ pondering still didn’t answer her question.  
Corinth didn’t appear to be giving an answer any time soon, but as quickly as Cas spoke, she heard Corinth suck a tight breath of air in and let it out slowly. His muscles were tense, his shoulders still bunched up and his fists squeezing tightly. Corinth stared right at Cas as he relaxed his arms and back, his alluring, entrancing eyes flashing a shade of emerald green as they bore into hers. The exchange caused Cas to look away. The green color of his eyes reminded her too much of the color of Dean’s, which also changed color, but not in the spectacular, flashy way Corinth’s did. Cas didn’t want to look at something like Corinth, a dirty, evil monster, and see anything that resembled Dean in him. A shiver ran across her spine and an image of Dean’s wild “hunting” look he gave her before they split up crossed her mind. Before she could study the image any further, a rich, smooth voice penetrated her mind.  
“As I said, you weren’t prepared for this hunt,” He repeated, the same debonair suaveness leaking from his silky, somewhat mocking tone. Cas glanced back up at him only to meet his eyes again, which were now normal, everyday chestnut brown. They were still tantalizing, the richness of color that was somehow enclosed in his pupils making her breath catch slightly, but it was easier to pull away and process what he had said. Corinth was saying that he knew they wouldn’t be prepared to hunt a vampire, so what. He decided to beat them to the punch and take care of it? Make sure they didn’t run into anything dangerous and unexpected? The astounding revelation made Cas do a double take. Either Corinth didn’t understand the meaning of his words and actions, or he simply didn’t comprehend the gravity of them. His face was composed in a nonchalant manner, his lips in a tight, firm line and his brows furrowed.  
There was one thing Cas knew for sure, and one of those facts was that Dean hated Corinth. Dean hated Corinth like he hated every belly-to-the-ground, fire-breathing, stain of a thing. Dean didn’t even have to hear Corinth speak to instantly pass judgment on him, which was completely understandable. Dean was a hard-headed, smart hunter, who was trained to the very marrow of his bones to kill things that weren’t meant to be living in the first place. Though for some strange reason it displeased Cas, she saw the hex bag Dean was carrying. Specifically, to ward off Corinth. Every night Dean regrets not killing Corinth. Like Cas’ nightmares, the very thought of letting him loose keeps Dean up at night, and it makes his head pound and his heart ache and his fingers tremble. It also makes his fist wrap around the hilt of his knife even tighter. Cas has to force a lump down her throat by swallowing hard whenever she witnesses Dean doing one of those things, but even still, she doesn’t regret giving Corinth a chance. The second thing is that Corinth hates Dean. If such a thing is possible, Corinth hates Dean even more than Dean hates Corinth. Corinth must hate them all, naturally by affiliation. That, and of course, the fact they’re hunters. And that’s where it ceases to make sense. Corinth, knowing they were unprepared and in danger, went ahead and killed one of his own kind to make sure they didn’t get hurt, or worse, killed. The notion still didn’t settle with Cas, no matter what angle she spun it.  
“We could’ve handled one surprise. We’ve fought hounds of demons before at once without a single weapon,” Cas retorted, a singe of spite slipping through her voice. Cas had to find some way to discredit Corinth. There was no possibility that he “saved” their lives from a vampire from the kindness of his heart. Cas realized how ungrateful and disregarding she was being; undermining what Corinth had said and simply ignoring the fact that her, Sam, and Dean had been wrong in their research. But if she didn’t live in denial and contempt Corinth’s help, then she would be sucked in to feeling the same regretful pity she felt back at the farmhouse.  
She expected Corinth to flash a disgruntled expression her way, or even attack at the slightest hint of disdain and respite in her voice, but instead he just looked mortally concerned and sympathetic. “Not this one,” he replied simply, looking disbelieving and cautious. The look on his face and the vibe he was giving off confused Cas. At the very least, Corinth knew the kinds of things they hunted. Vampires were at the top of their list. They had never encountered one they couldn’t eliminate, which by the way Corinth stared conspicuously at Dean back at the farmhouse, he knew Dean had never lost a fight against one of his kind. The fact that Corinth was treating this like a different case fazed Cas.  
Cas gulped down a heap of cool air, which worsened the foreboding feeling in her stomach. Corinth now even looked a bit hesitant, even frightened to step near the vampire he had killed. “What was different about this one? Surely you’re aware, since you’ve apparently been trailing us since the farmhouse, that Dean, Sam and I are not just knife-wailing amateurs who jump into battles half-cocked,” Cas stated, raising her eyebrow in question and sardonically. Corinth seemed to glance up at this one, appearing a bit stung by Cas’ hard-hitting statement. He smirked a tad, accepting and reassuring Cas’ avowal.  
“I can sense the sharp, slick edge of the blade laying on the ground in front of you. No amateur would be given full use of a weapon like that. I can nearly feel the metal penetrating my skin,” Corinth responded blandly, tastelessly clicking his tongue at the knife laying before Cas’ feet. Cas too looked at the knife in a longing appreciation, yearning for the reassurance it would give her to have it in her hard grip. But alas, reaching down and grappling for the safety of it would be a supporting detail in proving her statement wrong. She didn’t need it to fight Corinth. Not that she even wanted to anymore. The description of the iron piercing Corinth made her skin prickle and sent a shiver down her spine. For someone so valiantly comfortable around blood, she was having a difficult time surviving through Corinth’s elaborate narrative. Still, her question was unanswered, and Cas stood patiently waiting for Corinth to get to the punchline.  
He seemed to note her impatience, because he smirked a tad, making his eyes glitter in the shadows, and prepared his answer. “This particular vampire wasn’t just any old vampire, Cas,” he whispered, the sound of her name rolling off his tongue in an effortless and seductive tone. Cas caught herself staring at him, watching his mouth as he formed the words. She was grittily waiting for him to get to the point, but he appeared to be content increasing the word count. The spine-tingling anticipation was causing to ensue her restless stance, slowly walking around Corinth in a boxing-style manner. Corinth, ever the tease, simply smiled at the effect he was having on her before returning to his explanation. “Even I didn’t realize it until I was here, right outside the cave. I was prepared to kill him whether or not he was an-“Corinth paused mid-sentence, as if expecting Cas to take over and elatedly finish it for him. Cas bore her stare at him still, waiting on edge and breathing in rapidly the thin, smoke-heavy air. A small, distant sound of footsteps came from beyond the cave somewhere, but Cas was too entranced and occupied to notice. Corinth was dangling the answer right in front of her, and the sounds from the outside, which were growing louder and louder, faded to the background. Corinth glanced in the direction to the front of the cave, but with the loud, echoing sound of Cas’ foot hitting the ground, directed his attention back.  
“The what?” Cas panted eagerly, the footfalls and the voices of whoever was trampling in becoming louder and more frequent. Cas’ mind clouded, the only thing she could focus on was the noise Corinth was about to make.  
“An alpha,” Corinth replied, a haunted, decrepit expression on his face. His eyes had grown wider since he said the word, and he flinched involuntarily when he caught a glimpse of the creature laying limp next to him. “And I killed him,” The haunting coldness came rushing back again, and suddenly, the sounds of Dean and Sam coming toward them halted. A flit of concern washed over Cas, but the thought that took front and center in her mind was what Corinth just revealed. Corinth’s eyes were unnaturally dark, a deep emerald with ribbons of black throughout. It was an abnormal coldness in his eyes; more and deeper than the “fear me” complex his eyes portrayed before. His exterior was cracked a bit now at the revelation, and a frightening vulnerability shown through on his face. The notion of an alpha wasn’t exactly foreign to Cas. Practically every book in the bunker’s library mentioned the concept of an “alpha”, or the first of every kind. The original. The impact of this hit Cas like a bullet train, and she glanced back at the alpha. Corinth had killed the strongest, oldest, possibly the most powerful version of anything to ever exist, if it was indeed an alpha. It would explain the layer of cold, icy film that seemed to be in the air. When something so powerful was killed, it ought to have an even bigger effect than it was. In all the books that Cas had read, the concept and stories of alphas were just stories. Never proven to be fact, but never proven to be false. Cas figured that if Dean and Sam had full faith in the existence of dragons, that alphas weren’t an unbelievable idea, but they had never encountered one, so therefore never had reason to believe they were real. Cas’ ears reflexively strained to listen to the sounds outside, but the echoes of feet hitting the ground had ceased some time ago.

“Alphas don’t even existence…” Cas began, admiring with a new sense of awe at the creature before her, “and even if they do, this can’t be one,” Cas said, shaking her head in disbelief. She watched Corinth stiffen from the corner of her eye.  
“Why can’t it? I think I know my own kind,” Corinth said, sarcasm and spiffiness cutting into his tone of voice. He took a gentle step forward, and rose his hands in a placating gesture. “I’d think I’d know my maker,” He admitted, swallowing roughly. Cas glanced up at the confession, and caught the seemingly regretful expression on Corinth’s face before his defenses rose again. She couldn’t tell if he was regretting the kill, or feeling shameful because a monster was his creator. Almost instantly, a sultry look graced his face, turning his eyes from frighteningly dark to tempting blackness. Cas gulped down air, and exhaled before thinking clearly.  
“How would we not know it was an alpha? How is it possible that we could make a huge mistake like that?” Cas asked quizzically. Despite the clear proof laid out in front of her, and the subtle hints of unsettledness in Corinth’ stance, Cas still felt the need for answers. She continued to think it was odd that this one hunt for happen to be the exception in Dean and Sam’s long list of excellent research. They had never been wrong or unprepared for a planned hunt before, and the one that goes wrong happens to involve Corinth. Corinth, who was still staring at her with deep, strangely seductive stare. Cas could feel a pit of uncertainty growing in her stomach. Many things weren't right here.

Sam and Dean appeared from the shadows within minutes. Corinth's eyes were still fixated on Cas, boring into her soul with intent, with a purpose that Cas couldn't figure out. Cas glances back at the commotion behind her and saw Dean's feet slow to a halt, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and confusion. He held out his arm protectively when Sam followed closely behind, nearly barreling Dean but stopping once he felt the resistance of Dean's arm against his chest. Cas could feel Corinth's face redirect to Sam and Dean, could almost taste the coldness and the feeling of dread they gave off. Cas' eyes met Dean's, and Cas saw the minute glimpse of familiarity flash in Dean's eyes when Corinth took a step into full view. Dean visibly stiffened, and without a second though, reached into the waistband of his jeans and yanked out his knife, all within a few seconds. 

"I should've known it was you," Dean spat, anger and smugness coating his voice. The temperature in the tepid, hollow cave sank several degrees as the mood in the space shifted, stepping into more dangerous and unexpected territory.  
Dean smirked, his lips quirking up to one side, and sneered his name like it felt disgusting to roll off of his tongue, "Corinth." The name dang through the air like a sharp church bell during a funeral, a loud, bold symbol of doom and devastation. Corinth's face twitched at the sound of his name, and quickly regained his sense of calm, nonchalant reflection. Dean took a purposeful step forward, and suddenly Cas saw the terrified expression that graced upon his features when he saw the dead, bloody and limp body laying behind Corinth. Dean chose that damned second to look to Cas, whose blood ran cold and face harden. She could tell he was searched for answers in her eyes, clues that couldn't be spoken, and he was coming up empty.  
"Dean-"  
"I honestly can't believe you had the audacity to show up here," Dean derived, cutting Cas off in favor of continuing his interrogation of sorts with Corinth. Corinth had a cool expression, and held Dean's gaze lightly. His eyes were slightly shifting, from a deep, dark brown to a lighter shade of brown and green, a melding hazel. Cas could see the playful vengeance underneath Corinth's calmness, and Cas had the sudden urge to pull Dean aside by the sleeve of his jacket and explain everything.


End file.
